Motherhood and the writing life

When I started this journal, my life was a bit simple in that it was all focused on my work, mainly writing. I could disappear into writing, be obsessed with my characters, seclude myself for weeks, and no one really cared. I could be, in a word, as self-centred as I wanted. It was great. Really. Of course, it came with doubts, anxieties, writer's block, procrastination, impostor syndrome, and lack of money. But you can't have everything.

And I wanted kids. I ached to have a family. So I did. Best. Decision. Of. My. Life.

But I find myself, year 4 of my motherhood adventure, solo mom of 2, lit professor when there's work, I find myself divided in two. I sat today in a coffee shop while Henri slept in his stroller. It was our first outing like this, because our days have been filled with the need to sleep and way too many doctor's appointments. As I scribbled, he stirred, so with one hand, I soothed him while trying to not lose my train of thought. And it was clear: this is what writing with young kids is. Being divided, physically, one side of you the mom, one side the writer. I'm struggling to find how to write because I can no longer disappear into my work. I have to be there for the boys, feed and bathe them, make them laugh and tell stories. So I don't know how. My old habits are not compatible with mothering. But I also want to show them what making room for a passion is. How it can feed you and make you a better person.

I'm seeing the problem. I just haven't found the solution yet. But today, for about 10 minutes, the feel of the paper under my hand was like breathing freely after having been underwater.