My Night and Day

Fatigue is a writers worst nightmare. I want to go back in a time machine and sit back to back with Kerouac on the night he wrote On the Road. Maybe his "aura" would rub off on me and give me the energy I needed to write my autobiography, Out of My Mind.

I spent last night tossing and turning. With each toss, Josie coughed. With each turn, Owen whimpered. All I ever ask for on the nights when Norm is away is that I won't have to walk into the ER at 2am with two toddlers in footed pajamas. Fortunately, we made it through the night. Unfortunately, I made it through awake.

I didn't enjoy my kids today. I didn't enjoy my life today. I was tired, emotional and insecure about every decision I made. Even right now as I try to write, my daughter is softly calling my name while my husband is trying unsuccessfully to coax her to sleep. Her voice is like nails on a chalk board.

Fortunately, Norm is back. Tonight I will sleep peacefully knowing that in case of emergency, I will be able to go the ER with only the toddler in need of emergency attention and be able to leave the other one at home with a legal guardian.

With worries like these, its no wonder I don't have the energy to write. If fatigue is a writers worst nightmare, then motherhood is a writer's worst day dream.