When Dinosaurs Attack: On Writing and Motherhood

20160613_163830My baby is much more independent than he used to be. He’s on the verge of walking, and is quite capable of playing by himself. He folds the board book covers back, scoots random objects across the floor, sits on his musical toys so that they play the same song over and over, and when I’ve finally decided that it’s safe to start writing, he appears at my knee.

“Ai-ya-da! Umma-ma-maaaa.”

He whines for me to pick him up. Like the pushover that I am, I obey. My focus has evaporated anyway. Collect a handful of these focus-killers throughout the afternoon and I’ve got a writing-free zone. No prolonged brainwaves allowed.

As soon as I’m prepped for writing, he wanders into the elephant graveyard and almost gets eaten by hyenas. Well, he opens the entry cupboard and tries to eat the Calvin and Hobbes books. Even drafting a short blog post gets an interruption or two. Or seven. Add in that persistent solicitor who just tried to sell house-painting services, and suddenly you’ve got an angry momma. (I closed the door in his face. I normally try to be polite about it, but really? You’re interruping me while I write about…sigh…inevitable interruptions.)

Trouble rears its ugly head when my writing calls so intensely that I get frustrated with the distractions. If I was dealing with a time management issue, I would feel better about it. I could blame myself, analyze the problem, and fix it. But this isn’t fixable; it’s just motherhood. My baby has so much to learn and he’s working just as hard as I am. So who wins out? It’s a matter of priorities, and my baby is at the top. Go baby go! Learn baby learn!

My baby is an adorable giggling, smiling, wiggling, tyrant. Instead of fixing the issue, I just need to love my precious tyrant. I am blessed with a relatively happy one, too. I love him immensely. He’s too cute for words. I will work on better tactics, there are plenty out there, but not today. I just need to accept that sometimes something better crawls along and asks me to tickle him. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be blowing raspberries on my baby’s tummy. I’ve been challenged to play a game of “when dinosaurs attack.”

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