These days I’m facing a bit of a paradox: I have all the time in the world and yet not enough time to really do anything.
By “anything” I mean any activity other than changing diapers, nursing, rocking, and pulling the ultimate MacGyver trying to put my three-week-old to bed. Contrary to the laws of gravity, life now revolves around a 9-pound baby whose cries make me stop in my tracks and smiles instantly make up for any hair-pulling misadventures.
The Adventures in Parenthood Project is all about the transition of outdoor adventurers to parenthood. But I’d be remiss not to take some time to explore what this transition also means for me as an entrepreneurial and rather independent woman. In my last post I explained my choice of self-employment and how having a child has entered me into a life-long contract. In just a single day – Maya’s birthday – I went from being a hardworking and self-directed writer and editor to full-time mother; from a mat-toting yogi to receiving blanket junkie; from inspired foodie to ready-made soupie. The day I went into labour with Maya I was editing the summer issue of Highline Magazine and helping my husband make the final selection of images for his upcoming book. Twenty-eight hours later I was holding Maya in my arms, hoping motherhood would come as naturally to me as writing.
These days, apart from a daily walk, I spend the majority of my day within the walls of my 900-square-foot apartment. In some regards this is a choice, but from a practicality standpoint it is what makes things easier on all of us. As Tami Lynn Kent explains in Mothering From Your Center, this first year “calls for a whole new skill set and requires the transition from the pace of a production-oriented culture and a life built on achievement or professional development to one that is less viable, non-quantifiable, and focused on the home.” So, even though I miss writing for pay or being able to throw in a spontaneous hike, I know that Maya’s dependence on Paul and me will begin to wane in the months to come. Soon I will probably be missing her utter vulnerability, her instinctive need for mama, and her young (rather confusing) cries.
Nine hundred square feet isn’t so bad when you’re spending it with nine pounds of joy.