The first said: “You won’t have time for writing your blog when the baby comes.”
The second said: “You’ll make time for anything you really want to do.”
Before the baby, the hours and days stretched out in front of me. I got up before my husband and wrote for three quarters of an hour every single day. I moodled around, watching TV, reading, sewing, swimming, having baths, surfing the web, cuddling my husband and playing video games. Now, not so much.
Everything I need to do to care for myself has to be done again for the baby. Everything I need to do to care for the house and my marriage has to be done around the baby. And even when we are not doing anything, the baby must be amused and kept safe. And sometimes, quite often, when I’d rather be doing something else, he needs my full attention and no-one else will do. (I sent this post in late because he had a few difficult nights and just wanted to be held).
I haven’t missed a single blog post, though.
(As a side note, I haven’t seen the first friend for months – she never has the time. It’s painful to admit, but maybe seeing me is not something she really wants to do.)
I fight – every day – to make time for the things that I really want to do. I fight to remember that “comforting things” are not the same as “things I really want to do”. But most days I win, and I feel good about that.