I’ve come to notice that my satisfaction with the day is directly proportionate to the amount of time I spend writing. On days when the two-year-old is grumpy and needs extra affection and time? I feel less satisfied, because my writing takes a back seat. I become frustrated, because the one thing that I wanted to do in my day was cancelled, put on hold.
I don’t like to put myself on hold. Maybe that’s a good thing.
At the same time, I’m assuaged with a deep sense of guilt. Shouldn’t loving on my soon-to-be preschooler be enough or at least joy-filling?
It’s exhausting. Mothering is hard work. They say it; they tell you it will be hard. They don’t do it justice. I can’t do it justice here – there are no words.
Its rewarding, motherhood is. One of the other things they tell you. What they don’t say is when it will be rewarding. I’m still waiting.
Sure, I have moments that are rewarding, sacredly sweet, but they don’t really compare to the amount of effort I’ve put in so far. Maybe the reward is grandchildren. Grandparents say its the most amazing thing, but I can’t vouch for the experience.
While I’m waiting on that giant reward for all this mothering, I intend to give myself something to hold the peace in my life. That gift is writing. I hope that you find a gift to give yourself too – whether you are a mother or not. You deserve it.