What Time and Space Does for Moms
It’s currently 6:36 a.m. on a Monday morning and I’m writing a few words before I take over the circus (children) at 7 a.m. (God #blessed me with a husband who supports my staying in bed until the last viable second, when he absolutely must leave for work.)
YES I SAID I’M WRITING.
AT SIX THIRTY-SIX. ANTE MERIDIEM. (A.M.) That’s latin for before midday. Significantly before midday, currently.
Why? How is this happening? Where is this surge of creative energy coming from?? On a MONDAY.
It’s coming from, well, ME.
The Me whose energy is often expended by convincing my daughter that her tulle dress isn’t comfortable to sleep in. The Me who is researching brands of sunscreen so my kids’ faces won’t break out, or building wooden train tracks for my 2-year-old, or meticulously cutting berries that then get thrown on the ground. The Me who dances in the kitchen with her 3-year-old, only for the other toddler to start screaming because he wants to be picked up, too. The Me who is keeping track of kindergarten homework, library books, dog food levels, extracurricular sign ups and accessories, birthday party gifts, laundry, grocery lists, what day we’re supposed to bring snack for their daycare class, potty training, how much screen time the kids have had, lizards that get into the house, if the HOA is going to fine us for weeds…oh, and also working my job.
Motherhood is a trade off.
It requires an endless amount of mental (and physical) energy while reaping the benefits of inexplicable love and connection. Of fortitude and purpose and elation and awe. I love it.
And there’s not a ton left of Me.
But this year, thanks to some daycare help, Me gets 7 hours a week. Seven waking hours where I get to choose my own adventure. Sure, sometimes these adventures look like going to the post office so that I don’t have to do so with kids in tow, but standing in line for 30 minutes at USPS listening to a podcast still feels a whole lot more like Me time than running around the trampoline park with my three kids five and under, trying to convince other parents that I’m not a bad parent— my 2-year-old really IS a climbing prodigy and won’t fall, promise!!
Not only do I now have seven hours to tune my brain into one moment or need at a time, I also spent this past week in Toronto for work. And by “work,” I mean a really fun book launch event for my boss, a clinical psychologist and couples therapist who wrote I Didn’t Sign Up for This. Despite travel woes (like airplane sickness on the way there and a delay on the way home that resulted in a hotel stay), I spent 72 hours with other adults. Creative and ambitious and lively adults. I didn’t wear lycra ONCE.
I ate pasta at a one star Michelin restaurant in the company of three women who hold PhDs. I had a leisurely chai latte and a breakfast bagel across from a talented and dynamic girlfriend who happened to be in Toronto at the same time. I walked to Starbucks on a 70 degree day in a big city, feeling fresh air and autonomy that catapulted me right back to my days living in NYC. I left my toiletries on the counter of my bathroom with the door open, without worrying that a dog or a child would eat my makeup. What freedom!!
I held a mic and stood in front of an audience of 70-80 people, introducing two powerhouse women (my boss & the facilitator of the event— a well-known podcast host), mingling afterward with women who make a living creating funny, educational, inspirational content for the masses. Women who hold doctorates allowing them to change people’s lives in therapy rooms, through research, and in corporate settings or books.
When I got back home, suddenly I was overflowing with Me. Ideas for creative endeavors seeped out of my pores, seemingly from nowhere, but obviously from the well inside of me that needed to be filled.
I’m excited for this year. I can’t wait to create and fail and write and retract. To come up with great ideas and embarrassing ideas— offerings to the world that only I—nay Me—can summon from my brain.
Buckle up. We’re back on track!
