Not making any more promises to livejournal
I freeze up, looking at the screen, not knowing what to write. Am I a writer? Am I worthy of the name? Or is it as my husband says and I am only and “amateur writer”. As if that makes a difference. Does it make me lesser because I don’t get paid for what I do? I stare at the screen but my mind has gone blank and nothing comes out. A blinking cursor stares back at me and I have no story to tell.
I get up, walk away from my computer. Look in on my sleeping boy. He sniffles in his sleep. This cold has really taken a lot out of him. He coughs and starts to cry. The screen will have to wait for another day because motherhood takes precedence once again. Not that I had a story to write.
The next morning I wake up to a baby crying from her crib. I lurch out of bed and manage to get to her room. I carefully take her out of her crib and bring her back to my bedroom. Whipping out her breakfast I tuck us both back into bed as she guzzles her milk. I won’t be able to get much more rest, but I will take what I can get.
Not long after she is done and wanting to crawl, to play with the light switch, on and off again, over and over. It is time to wake up for the day she announces with her coos. I help her down from the bed and then get up for myself. I check the gates to make certain she is safe. I close the bathroom door to make certain she has fewer messes she can make.
I take a look at the time and I decide it is time for my son to wake up. He has daycare and he always seems to want to sleep through snack time. I am determined that this will be the day we will get out the door on time.
I go into his room, his little sister following my footsteps, letting him know it is time to wake. He groans and moans and tells me how tired he is. I forget about his coughing the night before and start in on a spiel about how he should go to bed earlier in the evening, stopping half way through. I sit down and sigh, reaching to feel his forehead to check for a fever. He feels as normal as he ever does.
I ask him if he is feeling sick and wants to stay home today. This helps him get up. He wants to see him friends and learn at daycare. He gets up and asks for waffles… And so we go through the motions of getting him ready to go.
I get up, walk away from my computer. Look in on my sleeping boy. He sniffles in his sleep. This cold has really taken a lot out of him. He coughs and starts to cry. The screen will have to wait for another day because motherhood takes precedence once again. Not that I had a story to write.
The next morning I wake up to a baby crying from her crib. I lurch out of bed and manage to get to her room. I carefully take her out of her crib and bring her back to my bedroom. Whipping out her breakfast I tuck us both back into bed as she guzzles her milk. I won’t be able to get much more rest, but I will take what I can get.
Not long after she is done and wanting to crawl, to play with the light switch, on and off again, over and over. It is time to wake up for the day she announces with her coos. I help her down from the bed and then get up for myself. I check the gates to make certain she is safe. I close the bathroom door to make certain she has fewer messes she can make.
I take a look at the time and I decide it is time for my son to wake up. He has daycare and he always seems to want to sleep through snack time. I am determined that this will be the day we will get out the door on time.
I go into his room, his little sister following my footsteps, letting him know it is time to wake. He groans and moans and tells me how tired he is. I forget about his coughing the night before and start in on a spiel about how he should go to bed earlier in the evening, stopping half way through. I sit down and sigh, reaching to feel his forehead to check for a fever. He feels as normal as he ever does.
I ask him if he is feeling sick and wants to stay home today. This helps him get up. He wants to see him friends and learn at daycare. He gets up and asks for waffles… And so we go through the motions of getting him ready to go.