Obligation occupation

Part of the challenge I have made to myself by starting this virtual... whatever (someday I will have to own up and call it what it is, but that day still resides in future tense), was to actually sit down and think about what I was thinking about. To carve some sliver to time out of the few 'happy hours' afforded to us at-home moms. But as I have mentioned before, it can be near impossible to dull the din of instinct that reverberates in my brain. Even when the wee one is sleeping, I am still 90% tuned to her channel, listing for a whimper, watching the clock, evaluating the temperature.

And that is when we are at home. Somehow our days have become filled with activities. A good thing, for certain, as I do not wish to rear cave child, and I alone am certainly not a full course of infant stimulation. However, as busy days inevitably link together in the magnetism of warmer weather, those calming moments of reflection remain at arm's length.

It is no longer a question of priority-- I have given up that ghost. The priority is to stay home and raise Eve, and all that it entails. In my personal arm wrestling match the mommy defeats the artist every time. It is something I am learning to live with and hope to use as a source of future pride. If not priority, perhaps dexterity. To be the artist mommy all the time. Sketchbook and pen in the diaper bag, camera always on hand. To weave identities together and hope fibers flush in a braid. This is what I have been attempting as of late. I'll let this banter sooth my ruffled, worrisome and temporarily idle feathers. Finally, add to dexterity a degree of grace. Clemency. A hope to loosen the bounds in which I construct my identity. A remembrance of this moment, and the haste of time. A disposal of the yard stick upon which I stretch my head. To let my obligation occupation dissolve into what it is, fits of laughter. And I will try to keep my camera on hand, and an eye out for beautiful light.