Friday, July 11, 2008
Lately I have not been working. And I really can't tell how I feel about that. I mean, it makes sense. I just had a baby and needed some time to figure out the new family before launching into work. But yesterday, as I was tinkering with tinker toys with Andrew and waiting for Dave to come home from work, I wondered about how I am spending my time right now.
It felt like I was waiting. Waiting for Dave to get home. Waiting for the groceries he was bringing so I could finish dinner. Waiting for Isaac to wake up and eat again. But also waiting for Andrew to get older. Grow up. Go off to school. Waiting for him to learn to use the potty. Waiting for days at home with babies to draw to a close. And I didn't like that.
The truth is that I love staying home with my little ones. I feel like it was what I was put on earth to do. I mean, my goodness, I am so domestic. And being domestic isn't really cool or pc or fashionable, but I feel like it just seeps out of me. It's what I like and it's what I'm good at.
But the times I've been happiest with this home-all-day routine has been when I was working. Working from home, on my computer while Andrew mastered Mr. Potato Head and created lego towers. I thrived off the tension that it created in my day. It was just enough to do. And oddly, I felt like it made me a better mother.
So, again I am waiting. I waiting to hear from two different companies about doing some writing for them. I am worrying if I have time for it. But I want to see if I do and I think the only way to know is to try.