But then I did go back to work, and I started missing not all of it, but a lot. New words. New feats of athletic prowess. New discoveries and interests and fears.
And then, once more, I was home again, having sold a book and a TV pilot, and, therefore, having earned the right to spend my days writing. This time, though, I had help. Full time help. Which seemed to make sense, since I had a script rewrite (or five) to do and another book to write. In fact, it seemed like the best of both worlds. I was home, there if Lil Mil needed me, but luxuriously free to focus on my writing without distraction. Women with nannies know how this turned out. I was no longer a WAHM. I was a go-to-work mom whose office just happened to be in her basement. I rarely spent time with Lil Mil during the day. I might quit working early or start late, but my week days were work days. I wasn’t “there” any more than I had been when I was sitting in my office at Big Law. Which maybe would’ve been okay if I needed 40 hours to write. But I didn’t. 30 was plenty. A few weeks ago, the ridiculousness of this situation started really weighing on me. What was I doing with full-time help?!? I found myself killing time until my daughter got home from her adventures with nanny. It was insanity. So, finally, I did something about it. Now, Lil Mil and I have Tuesday mornings and all day Wednesday together. And this week, that meant a neighborhood tea party and cookie date and a Disney matinee. I spent less time writing this week than I have in a while, but that’s okay, because I’m doing what I love again. Juggling.
