A Month of Sundays

Sadly, my time of being a stay-at-home mommy is drawing swiftly to a close (for now). I am due to go back to work at the beginning of August, and I have about another week before the first family member comes in for an extended stay to nanny my son. Eventually we’ll run out of family, and he will have to go into daycare, but we are trying to get him to about 6 months so he has had all his shots, is beginning to explore food, and is more able to communicate to us if there is a problem with the care provider than he would be at a younger age.

And it will be good to not have to pay 25% of my salary in order for me to earn the salary for at least a few months while we recover financially from his birth and my time off. I wish I could say home with him, period, but it’s not realistic for us right now. If I had no personal debts, we could scrape by on my husband’s income – so the goal is for me to be debt-free by the time baby #2 comes along, since 50% of my salary just for me to work begins to look prohibitive if the working is not in and of itself a reward. Our ultimate goal is for me to homeschool the children, anyway, so me being able to not work 2-3 years from now is much more important (whatever my feelings about it) than me staying home now. I confess, the notion of a $10,000 advance from a publisher sort of looks like life-changing money right now, and isn’t the common advice to only sell a book for life-changing money? But I don’t have a book to sell, and I am, in all honesty, not sure I really could give up on one of my stories, which is what selling it for current contract terms would feel like. If I wrote faster, perhaps each one would matter less.

Anyway, July has felt to me like a month of Sundays. May was the shellshocked immersion into parenthood, and June was the halycon days when I had it figured out and my time with baby stretched endless before me. Since the first of July, though, I’ve had in the back of my mind that it’s drawing to a close – the way, as Calvin so aptly pointed out, you can’t truly enjoy Sunday the way you can Saturday because there isn’t another day off after it. Sunday isn’t over yet, but it’s waning fast, the shadows of tomorrow looming long on the periphery.

At least I’ve got him sleeping through the night. And at least we’re on a good schedule for me to just stay up after his pre-dawn feed, and write while he sleeps in his wrap against me. It might hurt to get only 6 or 7 hours of sleep each night, but I will get both a precious couple hours more with him each day and time to let the words out.

But for now, it’s still Sunday.


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