Kids are crazy. They fill up my life, every minute.
Before I had kids, I thought writing was my baby. I actually said that to somebody who just had a baby. She showed me her baby. And I showed her a short story I published in a magazine. I actually said, “That’s my baby.”
Even thinking about it makes me cringe.
Sure, writing can be your most important thing. It can fill up your life. From dawn to dusk. But it’s not a baby.
They’re just totally different, plain and simple.
I’m going to make a chart.
Right now, the writing is demanding and frustrating. With little payoff or feeling of success.
While the kids are equal parts demanding, frustrating, exciting and satisfying.
Maybe it’s because I don’t get as much time as I’d like to write. The kids take up the majority of my every waking moment. And I have a job. I have to squeeze the writing in bits and pieces. And maybe that’s not enough. Maybe that’s why it isn’t as satisfying as I’d like it to be. And I do believe there’s a direct ratio of how much time you put into something to how much you get back from it. But that would be a whole other chart.
Or maybe it’s just because writing is filled with rejection. And your kids aren’t. Or at least, until they’re teenagers (kidding).
I think what bothers me the most is how it feels like it has to be one or the other. Babies or writing. Writing or babies.
Give up time with the babies to write. Or give up writing to have babies.
I just want it all! I want it all!
At the end of the day, I will say:
Writing + Babies = Demanding, frustrating, exciting, satisfying and crazy-making all at once.
Which is really like the same thing. Who knew?
Maybe I wasn’t such a jerk to that lady.
*I moved to WordPress.com instead of .org and the chart didn’t make the conversion. But you get the idea….