Today is a really hard day. I am scraping the barrel for energy, stamina, positivity… I feel depleted.
My daughter used to sleep through the night. And now, ever since she went through her 4 month sleep regression, she has been a horrible sleeper. Last night, she was up every hour or less from 11:30 – 4:30.
I can’t function. I can’t deal. I don’t even have the energy to discuss sleep training or crying it out, let alone try…so, I’m just going to leave that there.
I’ve been rewriting/editing this book that has become my third child.I work on it day and night, night and day, every free second that I have. I have to get it done, because it means everything to me. It represents the cruise ship that will need to sail on the ocean called my dreams. All of my eggs are going in this basket. I have to gamble and I have to take this chance. I can’t take that chance, if I don’t finish it.
When my daughter jostles up my ability to cope, to have energy, it makes it difficult to think, which makes it difficult to tap into my creative resources and make/create this book to be everything I believe it can become. When this happens, I sink even lower into a pit of despair, because I feel like my dreams are never going to come true. That is something I can’t deal with. They have to come true. Writing is my reason for living. I know that sounds dramatic, but it is true. It is my life’s CAREER purpose. I’m only saddened that I didn’t believe in myself sooner.
While my daughter napped selfishly, I was curled up on the sofa, in fetal position, crying–yes, this really happened–I hear my son behind me. He is reading “Pete The Cat” or really, reciting it, because my husband and I have read to him many many many times before. And then it hit me: perspective.
“The days are long (and hard.) The years are short.” I’ve heard this expression many times before. But, hearing my son reading that book out loud made me realize how all the little ways, every single day, that I impact him, make an impression on him, and the person he will become, as well as the things he remembers about me and our time together…writing this out loud, I don’t know if that makes any sense. Does it?
What I am trying to say is raising my children seems like the day to day routine, as routine as making coffee every morning. I forget the net value and meaning I bring to their life and theirs into mine. It seems trivial and mundane most days, but it is my true purpose. It is a higher purpose. I must remind myself of this on days like today.
They need me more than I need my dreams to come true. Even though I feel like I should have accomplished more in my writing career. I mean the world to my children.Realizing this doesn’t make today any easier, it just makes it a little less painful.
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