The neverending babymoon

A little clarification. Two posts ago I was talking about reading for myself, not to critique the author but to understand my own story needs better. As commenters said, there are reasons to critique an author, if you're an editor, in a writing group, etc. This is important. And your English lit teachers are teaching you to break down story parts and understand the fascinating engine under the hood. I agree it's harder to just love Story as much with this task, but there are valuable reasons for having those skills and understanding literary theory. So while I believe passionately that an internal reader is a far better companion for pleasure reading than an internal critic, I don't believe that my way is the ONLY way to experience a book.

So I had decided the the first two weeks with my babies were my "babymoon". Two weeks to just enjoy the babies, hold the babies, smell the babies, and not pressure myself to clean the house or work or go anywhere.

The two weeks ended. I sighed sadly. It had been wonderful, but I have two other kids and books to write and a house to clean and errands to run. Then I looked down. At the two babies in my arms. Um…yeah, so at the end of two weeks, I still have two babies who need to be held. Pretty much all the time.

I settle back into the pillows, change two diapers, and smell my babies some more. I don't get to decide when the babymoon ends. And I don't really mind. Good thing those granite countertops camouflage the spills.