I spent my day writing lists that didn't get accomplished. I napped early with my baby, because of a restless night (I think he's teething) but it was a fitful nap, due to caffeine and the fact that my brain wouldn't turn off. I felt anxious and fruitless today, filled with worry that in becoming a stay-at-home mom, for now, I am giving up some part of myself irrevocably. And then I remembered that I wanted to take this year to write, and to make something of my writing. Which resulted in a new wave of terror and guilt.
I'm not sure if I'm scared of writing something that is actually successful, or never doing so. And I wonder if I'll never find the time. (It took me the span of four hours to read that article in Vanity Fair about Aniston that the media is quote happy about, because of all the damn interruptions that inevitably occurred). But I know one thing. My mother is almost 60 and because she raised three kids, she now has no career, no professional skills, no "calling" and she wishes she did, and I couldn't bear that.
But today I wonder if I will I somehow slip down a rabbit hole and become that nobody, if I stay at home? Or can I, like I dream on better days, do both?