Giddy with the prospect of having a whole nine hours a week child-free (minus the time it takes me to drop off and collect #2. And the hour for Pilates. And the fact that may have volunteered to play guitar if the pre-school needs me. Oh. ) I have begun to dream of becoming a writer again.
I spent a lot of today neglecting #2 while I updated my various online hideouts and started shaking branches at the edges of my professional network, ever so gently.
It has been almost five years (certainly three) since I did much serious work and more since I vigorously pursued it.
I’m looking at all my old marketing materials and professional biographies and such and it’s like take a trip back in time. I haven’t thought about this stuff in so long, that seeing it again is like visiting a former me. I wish I could go back in time and give her a big hug and say,
“Yes, you WILL have children. And yes it will be difficult. And yes, it will be GREAT! And no, you won’t have to give up anything of yourself – nothing important anyhow.
“You are going to learn so much and you are going to be so different, but do you know the best part? You are going to be more yourself than you are now. Allons-y!”
Of course, I’m leaving the six-years-younger photo up there…