I am beginning to regain my will to live. It’s nice. At some point I may even begin to resemble the person I like to think of as me.
In the meantime, I have had a great amount of time for thinking. I’m a stay-at-home mum. That was always going to be what I was for at least awhile. I am not a supermum. I do not have lists of activities to fill our days. I do not have an endless amount of ideas of how to occupy my precious little monster’s attention. My house is a disaster. I often offer him bizarre bits of recycling as toys (generally as drums). But I still think it’s good, and I’m glad I have. But also… Over the past few months I have been wanting to work. It’s taken me awhile to acknowledge this, as though wanting to stay home forever was what I was supposed to want. Financially, we could do with another income. Emotionally, I could do with a focus.
For reasons that are known to some, it’s unlikely I’m going to find work for awhile. Although I have been getting more freelance design work offered. But this means that I need to find my focus in myself and in Eden and in our house. So old dreams have begun to resurrect themselves. Old projects have begun to reignite my imagination. It feels good.
It is so easy to feel guilty for wanting to leave eden. But I think I’m a far better parent when I do. It’s too easy for me to simply fade out and exist when there is no schedule and no specific demands on my brain.
Oh the chunering upstairs is lessening. I wonder if my attempt of a nap of convenience (I’ve got an appointment during normal naptime) is going to work?