I worry so much about being interesting. What could be more boring?
See what I did there? Needed to be clever... Sigh
I went to school for writing. Spent thousands of dollars to graduate and work in a warehouse for minimum wage. Without the garret window and broken heart(s), somehow I couldn't see myself as a writer. Never have, really, except when I drink too much wine and make cut-up word poems. And I love them. Truly, they are some of my favorite creations. But I am (finally) coming around to the idea that being me as me might be better, and more interesting and, thus, more creatively beneficial, than being me as Writer.
Maybe it helps to be a mom. I don't know. But I am one now. 15 months in or so. I made my best creation, so maybe there's relief and release in thinking that it's all downhill from here. Now I can make whatever out of whatever because I made him out of love and food. Lots of food. Looking at you, coconut cake.
I worry so much about not being a good mom. Don't we all, sometimes even before we have the kiddos? But then I think about how I spend my days: playing with blocks and stuffed toys to the sounds of whatever music I put on for me and Cash, dancing with him and watching him try new moves (the sway is the current craze), singing, reading... All of it book-ended with feedings, diaper changes and naps. It's pretty fantastic, actually. And what more did I ever want in life except music and love?
Cash is in a phase of separation anxiety lately. I'm in his presence probably about 90% of his waking hours, and yet, at least a dozen times a day, he'll walk or crawl over to me and tug at me until I bend down to his level, pull him to me and hug him. He bumps his nose and mouth on my face (his version of a kiss), then presses his face into my neck. It feels like no more than two months ago I was achingly pregnant and wanted him to GET OUT, and then he was and I wanted him to shoot past babyhood so we could talk together and spend time at the park. Once he started to crawl and then walk, I thought it would be so much better, easier. But those clingy messy hugs. They're better, easier, sweeter, everything. Just, everything.
Time, slow down.
