Looking after a newborn and not writing my novel
Wash bottles. Sterilise bottles. Wash breakfast dishes. Tidy living room. Put shoes away. Feed dog. Heat up formula. Feed baby. Burp baby. Put TV on. Cuddle baby. Make a cup of coffee. Forget to drink coffee. Make bed. Fold clean clothes. Put more laundry in the washing machine. Pick up stray dummies. Sterilise dummies.
The day goes like this.
My baby is 6 weeks old tomorrow, and sleeps around 16 hours a day. This is the point in my child’s life when I should have the most time to myself. Excluding the hours we're all in bed, there are theoretically eight hours in each day when I could be writing my novel, or drafting a pitch letter for a magazine, or having a bath. But I’m not doing any of that. Not even close. It’s 9:14 and I haven’t showered. I probably won’t until the hour before my husband gets home. And I’ll be spurred on less by the desire to get clean, and more by not wanting him to see me in the same frayed state he left me in.
The minutes and hours will blur together. I’ll be busy but feel unproductive. I’ll be sat down for long stretches but not feel rested.
If ‘mum guilt’ is the pervasive, nagging feeling that I’m doing enough or not doing right by my child, perhaps I’m feeling ‘self guilt’.