Monthly Archives: October 2014

Day one

The truth is I don’t know how to be a writer and a mom. I don’t know how to require less than silence and isolation. Pushing out words between cries and diaper changes is still very foreign to me. One minute I am a human rocking chair or a musical mobile, the next an inventor of make-shift baby gates. Then I leave for work with people I don’t like in positions I tolerate for a paycheck that tells me my value as a human being is not equal to the rising costs of¬†food and shelter. And I’m supposed to have something valuable to say or think amidst all the mindless activity of being a caretaker and a financial provider.

The bigger tragedy is that my current state of living is to produce, to exert, to impart, to deliver. I have ceased to retain, to receive or to find release. Or relief. What’s the difference? I leave Noah only to go to work. I can only think of a handful of times I was able to leave him for¬†anything else. I’m not a bad mom for needing personal space, for requiring down time. I changed a lot about my life for Noah and I’ve grown in areas I never thought I would, but I can’t change who I am. I love Noah with every atom of my being, but I really hate being a mother sometimes.