Where's My White Flag?

Some days are better than others. Today, I feel defeated. I am a dirty, tired mommy who is alone and covered in spit-up. I want to get dressed in the morning. (Real dressed, not yoga pants and a t-shirt dressed.) I want to go four or more hours knowing that no one will spit up on me. I want to expend mental energy on something other than researching ways to encourage a 9-month old to crawl. I want to be there for my friends. I want to be able to act on thoughtful intentions rather than just have them. I don’t want to wipe oatmeal out of fine baby hairs only to find another clod of it during bathtime. I don’t want to search under furniture for dusty, hairball-covered pacifiers or chase balls across the room or run to get one more burp cloth only to arrive a minute too late. And did I mention that I don’t want to be spit up on?

This is where the irony sets in. Even though my job often results in stress and divided attentions, as well as the inevitable guilt that accompanies both, in times like these, I am so grateful to have it. When the little guy lays down for his nap, I can brew a cup of coffee, sit down with my laptop and moleskine, and remember, if only for a few hours, that my world is not all diapers and spit-up. Over the last few months, it has slowly become easier for me to shut off the mommy brain and turn on the professor brain. There were days that I thought that might never be possible. But today, making progress on this book proposal actually saves me from searching for a white flag of surrender. Because really, that isn’t an option anyway.