I dread this question. Not because I don’t like my answer – although I still haven’t quite found a way to confidently tell people that I’m a writer, stay at home mother – but because of the response I get when I tell some of these people that I’m a writer, stay at home mother. Because not only do these people usually poo poo the writing part, they poo poo the mommying part too.
It’s like an Oh that’s cute response.
A Yeah but what’s your real job? response.
It’s an Uh-huh but how do you get paid? response.
This is my real job. And I get paid in cookies. Thats not true.
I don’t even get cookies.
And it isn’t cute. It’s hard.
It isn’t easy to have a job that you sometimes feel the need to justify. And I’m not just talking about justifying it to other people, I’m talking about sometimes having to convince myself that I’m a writer, that all of this work and writing and time and non-moneymaking is worth it. So when these people ask me And what do you do? I dread the conversation that comes next.
Because I want to tell these people that they should wake up every morning and go to work for free (unless you count your two year old hitting you upside the head as payment – then yeah… I make bank). I wonder how many of them would still be at that job in a year? How about two years? I want to tell these people that think my writing/mommy days are spent checking my facebook that it’s not easy to discipline myself every day. Every morning I wake up and feed, play with, and change my kids. Every day, I get shit done around the house while making sure my two-year-old isn’t breaking said shit. Most days I have to get dressed while chasing my daughter who stole the lipstick out of my purse and is now full sprint down the hall like a thief bandit on the run. I can’t use the bathroom or brush my teeth without Rafaella banging on the door screaming Mamiiiiii. And I won’t mention in detail my 6 month old, Santiago who doesn’t like to be put down – like not verbally. Physically. The life of a stay at home mom is as relaxing as using a restroom at a truck stop. So it’s not. Relaxing that is. From here, I put those angels down for their 11:00 am nap and run out the door – -usually already in a full on sweat – to work on my writing – yep that other cute, not real job that I don’t get paid for.
Every day at all moments I am taking in experiences, articles, moments, blogs that I could write about. My brain never turns off. It never stands still. (I am currently in schedule for a serious breakdown.)
Last night, in the middle of the night, I rolled our bed into the middle of the room and faced my feet where my head would normally be because there was a crazy lightning storm and I was sure that lightning would strike my head. I made Husband do the same. Hmmm… maybe I’ll write about this tomorrow. That was my thought. Seriously?! Lightning could strike my head and I was thinking that this might be a good topic to write about.
Every moment of every day I do this. So when you ask me what I do and I say I’m a writer, stay at home mother don’t look at me like I’m some grown up still trying to live out a college dream, like I do nothing for a living. And definitely don’t look at me like I’m Franny Free Time watching TV or shopping online or gossiping on the phone…
Bitch please, I’m writing.
Thank you Husband for obviously telling people that I’m a writer.
