Today I was a mom.
Yes, I’ve been a mom for five years now, but today, I was just a mom.
I did not even try to make time for my writing. I did not work on marketing. I did not work on drawing.
I prepared for a gaggle of little girls to invade my home tomorrow for Genny’s fifth birthday party.
I organized the living room, dining room, and kitchen. I cleaned and emptied the back porch and washed off all the outside paraphernalia. I dug up the dirt and grass that had overgrown our slate pathway. I washed muddy slippers and shoes, which reminds me, they are still in the dryer. I cooked supper for daughter and father-in-law. I nursed. I ferried my daughter to and from school.
My back aches. I’m dirty and sweaty.
I now understand why it takes a mom to run a home, to do all the stuff that needs to get done. It really and truly is a job and a half.
It seems the only way to make mothering work is to commit to it absolutely and completely and only do other stuff if you happen to have some free time. I do not like this. But I think I must accept it. Or somehow make oodles of money so we can hire someone to help with all the housework and drudge work.
I know there will be a balance between me and me-as-mom eventually.
But I can’t expect so much from myself.