The first several weeks after my baby arrived, I tried to do everything: be a new mom, keep the house clean, pickup after myself, get work done, answer emails.
Slowly, despite my attempts to thwart it, I realized that I only had a few increments each day. Nursing is an incredibly time-consuming process, and I don’t want to be off on my phone while my little one is right here in front of me. I want to be spending those precious moments with him, nursing, before it’s all over.
When I did get up from under the babe (and out from under the diapers), I realized I only had a few precious moments of space for “me” things. And the only way to get the most important thing done was if it was the only thing that I did.
And the only way to get the most important thing done was if it was the only thing that I did.
Gone, suddenly, was procrastination on Facebook before diving into writing.
Gone was the need to shower, clean, or organize.
I’m not going to die with my epitaph reading, “Boy, she did a great job of cleaning the house,”
or, “She answered every email!”
or, “She read up on all of those blogs!”
or, “She posted more on Facebook than everyone else!”
No, it’s going to be ruthless. And he’s letting me know. All we can do — all I can do — is scribble out a little. If writing is the most important thing, then it is the only thing.
If writing is the most important thing, then it is the only thing.
I’m not showering as a result. I’m more intimately familiar with my armpit stink than I have been since I took week-long backpacking trips.
I’m not answering emails or messages that don’t get me my two most precious things: time with my baby, and time writing.
Writing and mom-ing.
Those are the things my heart craves.
I’ll let the laundry pile up.