I confess–I’m not the model of productivity right now.  I’m alarmingly unfocused and when I do sit down to write, its hard to write.  It’s like I have clouds and cotton balls in my head instead of brains.  I keep wondering if this is perhaps a side effect of hormones?  Can lots of estrogen and progesterone make one spacey?  As I’ve discovered I’m very good at folding laundry, wiping down kitchen counters and moving toys from one end of house to the other, but when it comes to creating a scene, or sustaining an idea, I just go fuzzy.  And get sleepy. 

The trouble is, I’m starting to get really excited about meeting Mac.  He’s so active and bumps around my tummy and it makes me smile and rub where his head is–high on the right–and talk to him.  I don’t have long conversations but say things like, “Hey, Mac” and “What are you doing in there?”

My 10 year old son keeps asking me who I love most, and if I’ll love Mac more than him, or if I’ll love him and his older brother more, and I tell him love isn’t like that.  Love isn’t a quantity or a measurable amount.  It just is and it just grows and stretches and lasts and grows some more. 

Even though the writing is tricky right now I do think about my book almost constantly and my character, Shey, can’t even remember who she was before her sons.  She can’t remember what she wanted or who she loved before they changed her heart.  I feel that way as a mom.  I can’t remember me before Jake and Ty.  They’ve been part of my life so long that my life and my identity is being mom.  Their mom.  I know I’m a writer and I have lots of interests besides the boys, but nothing is more challenging, nothing is more rewarding, nothing is more beautiful and fierce and alive than having these kids and helping them prepare for the life ahead, the life when they aren’t with me and every thought and every breath.

I suppose compared to twenty year old moms I’m going to be an old mom.  But in my heart, there’s no age, no fatigue, no limitation.  I just love my kids.  I love being their mom.  And I can’t believe that in less than sixty days there will be a new little face to learn, and new little eyes to look up at me, and a new little life to kiss, and cuddle, and cherish.

Leave a Comment

Your email is never published or shared.


This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

By posting a comment, you consent to have your personally identifiable information collected and used in accordance with our privacy policy.