I live for naptime. I admit it.
My day starts at 7:30 a.m., when my one-year old daycare baby arrives. My husband takes our 10 year old twins to school at 8 a.m. Then I spend the rest of the morning on the floor playing with the babies, changing the babies, feeding the babies, distracting the babies, dancing with the babies, watching Sesame Street with the babies and so on until 12:30 p.m. Then my neighbor picks up YoungestBoy for kindergarten.
I put the baby boy to bed and nurse my daughter to sleep. By the time People's Court ends at 1 p.m., she's asleep and I have two hours to myself.
Except for today. She snoozed while she nursed and then at 1 p.m., when I gently placed her in her crib, she sat up and screamed. I tried again, but to no avail. She's skipping her nap today.
I made my lunch anyway, hearts of Romaine with a can of tuna. She ate the tuna off my salad.
I called my husband to complain.
It's not that she's crabby or whiny. It's just that she's awake! I need her to sleep. I need silence. I need time to catch up with the laundry and the dishes. I need to be able to walk from one room into another without her panicking and screaming her cute little head off. I went into the laundry room while she was watching Teletubbies and when I came out, she'd scampered upstairs and was in the hallway shrieking. She thought she was following me.
I am so now so desperate that I gave her the box of pop-up tissues to play with.
This child wants my undivided attention at all times and in fact, is fussing now on my lap. Sigh. Twelve hours is a very long time to spend with a one year old!
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Some people like to work in fits and starts. I know people like this. They begin a project, then break for breakfast. Start another job, then decide to run some errands. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. Not only do interruptions not bother them, but they actually create their own interruptions. Somehow, they accomplish a lot, everything they need to and more.
I hate working like that. I like to work until a job is done. I like to work first, play later. I hate being interrupted. Unfortunately for me, motherhood is one big interruption.
I had a little flicker of realization today. My husband keeps asking (taunting, really) when I am going to write my first novel. I just roll my eyes. I have no time! Well, I have time, but it's interrupted time. Little, chopped up snippets of time. (Until night, when I'm worn out.)
He can accomplish things, even when he's interrupted. I get flustered and my brain starts to rattle around in my head and my eyes blur over and I just can't think. Sometimes, I'm thinking while I'm washing dishes, orderly thoughts lined up nice and neat in my head and then the phone will ring and two kids will talk to me at once and the baby will screech and all those thoughts fly into disarray.
And I have to think if I'm going to write. I know I'll have to retreat inside myself and kind of be unavailable for a time. I'll need blocks of time, uninterrupted by the buzzer on the dryer and the phone and a baby crying and fifth grade homework.
Until then, I'll think as much as I can and wonder if I should write that novel in first or third person.