The worst part about going to sleep at night is that I have to stop going in and giving this sweet head kisses....
Watching father/daughter nightly reading session does strange things to this Mommy's heart
I am writing/rambling tonight because my spirit is in a bit of a turmoil. I don't want to talk about the turmoil, I want to thank Chubbs.
Thank you, dear Chubbs for teaching me that difference is a wonderful thing. Breaking the mold- thinking outside the box- these are all wonderful, wonderful things.
I always dreamed that I would be a professional musician. I practiced my brains out, got all the proper degrees, and then ended up moving to Vermont where the opportunities to play professionally are less than zero.
Because my love for my husband was greater than my love for the clarinet, I gladly moved to the desert of musical opportunities and made my new dream teaching music in a public high school. Teaching was going really, really well. I was enjoying it- doing pretty decently at it (I think I'm safe to say that)- and I didn't mind that I had to change dreams. I was happy and determined to be the best musical teacher possible. I never dreamed of pursuing anything outside of music because that is all that I was told I was good at. Why try something different? Different in my mind = scary and untouchable. Why try to fail?
Enter: Chubbs. Like a meteor falling unexpectedly from the night sky, landing in my life to dramatically rock my life's foundation, I found my world absolutely shaken. It's not that I didn't want a baby- no I really wanted to be a mom. It's just that I didn't want a different baby.
When I slowly discovered that having a different baby is actually a good thing (yes, I meant to say that), I found the reasoning of my life plan shaken.
Could different actually= good? Could this equation apply to possibly more than a baby?
These past months, I have enjoyed trying something very, very different from my original life plan of being a musician. I have been writing a book. Faithfully, every day since July- I have spent minutes/hours/heart wrenching all day sessions writing my book.
I recently finished Draft #2 after some constructive ideas from my editor. Another draft=better book= closer to being published (I can see you rolling your eyes at my equations)
I have literally tens of thousands of words spilling out into a drama that ultimately shapes a mother's love for her baby- no matter what. Sweat, blood and tears (not really blood, it just sounded more dramatic) have gone into making this draft. I look forward to hearing back comments and then making it even better once again. Writing a book is hard work- but I am loving every single minute of it.
We are now into February. My goal is to get this book published in 2011- breaking into the minds and stereotypes of mothers all across the world whose only desire is to have a perfect baby and can't possibly comprehend anything different from that.
Ten months. I have ten months left to reach my goal. From my computer keys that are becoming increasingly worn, a back that is extremely sore all of the time (seriously need a more comfy writing chair), and the loss of sleep (I do wish I could nap with Chubbs every now and then)- I am giving this book everything I have.
As a result, I am feeling more than a bit like a lousy music teacher. I am rather one track minded, and find myself caught up in the world of my book all the while giving my daughter the time and attention she deserves.
I hope one day to be able to resolve these feelings of guilt between confused professions. What do I want to be when I grow up? Meanwhile? I continue to work, write and pray all the while trying to juggle the many things in my life right now. Confession? I am enjoying writing my book much more than I ever enjoyed teaching music. Is that weird? What about my advanced degrees and performance trophies and teaching license? Seriously, facing career confusion.
And Chubbs- she is my inspiration, the one who pointed me in the direction of different. I love her more than words can say -even the many words in my book...still not enough to express my love for her.
Maybe someday she will read my book....published....and dedicated to her. That is my dream.