Reflections on the first year

This time last year, I was 12 hours away from becoming a mother to two children. Little did I know that The Ambulance Ride would be just the first in a long line of adventures.

Before I continue, I need to make a name change. I'm going to stick with the Shakespearean theme I started with Hamlet, and rename his baby brother Puck. He no longer resembles a Bulgarian mobster - not only is he no longer that grumpy, but he also grew big blue eyes, long lashes, and soft blond hair - and he's incredibly mischievous. Among his favorite activities: trash-picking (and throwing his brother's toys away), climbing on top of tables, and going under the computer desk. He's 1 going on 4.

For all the joy this brings, it's also brought some weightier issues I never anticipated. First of all, I've had to cut waaaaay back on work. I only do what I have to to stay current as a freelance writer/editor, and to make enough to keep us afloat. I'm down to maybe 5 hours a week, though many weeks it's more like 1 or 2 hours. Puck must be constantly supervised, both with and without his brother around. I'm still writing fiction, though it's more limited than ever. I've actually become a little bit more structured:

• Puck doesn't nap easily, so when he gets fussy on preschool mornings, I often load him into the car half an hour or more early, then sit in Hamlet's teacher's driveway and work on a story while Puck sleeps. I can get 20-30 minutes this way.
• If I'm lucky enough to get Puck to sleep quickly (as opposed to the hour or more being rocked that it sometimes takes), I spend another 20-30 minutes working before Hamlet comes into the room to go to sleep.
• Rain Dog and I agreed that I can spend Saturday mornings at a local Dunkin' Donuts. It's not perfect, but it's quiet enough that I can spend time on the next novel. Otherwise I'd never get to focus enough to work on it!

The writing, however, is small potatoes compared to the emotional challenges of caring for two children. Not that adding a child was difficult in itself, but that the addition dredged up issues and memories from my own childhood that I have had a very, very hard time dealing with.

I didn't get along well with my younger brother, who was born when I was 4. I felt insecure a lot of the time, afraid he was somehow usurping my identity when he played with my toys or imitated my actions. I didn't know how to be a sister and I don't remember being guided in that role - my father had been an only child, and my mother, although the oldest of 5 children, didn't share a father with her siblings. Security wasn't their strong suit, either. By the time my brother was school age, I was a full-fledged bully (fed by the girl-bullying I experienced at school).

Four is a tough age, from what I can see. The child is on the cusp of childhood, with one foot still in babyhood. Hamlet has had problems with separation anxiety, which he has never had (even as a baby!); he's halfway potty trained, but unwilling to take the final steps to complete it. He's often incredibly mature, helpful, smart, and witty - a true joy to be around. Other times, he can be a monstrous brat (usually when given more control over a situation than he can handle).

If I was anything like Hamlet, I can only imagine how my parents, dealing with their own childhood memories and baggage, would have seen and responded to me. All I have, then, are my memories of how I felt, and my desire that Hamlet never feels as insecure as I did.

Translating those intangibles into action, however, has been the biggest challenge. It's easy to catch him being good to his brother, and it's easy to talk about the times he wanted to be good to Puck but was just a little too rough. Harder is how to respond when he says, "I'm dumb," or refuses to tell me that his lovey got "hurt" because he was afraid I would be mad. Where does he get those ideas? Does he hear my negative self-talk so often that he now imitates it? Does he really believe that about himself? Do I really get upset with him so often? Is it his natural perfectionism, or mine, that he's responding to? How can I maintain high standards to challenge him, but still ensure he can succeed?

I know how my parents would have responded - and did respond - and put together with my memories, I can't bring myself to respond likewise. It would be easier, but I just can't do it. I then feel like I'm parenting in a vacuum, literally making it up as I go along. (With a little help from good friends.)

Why is this relevant to a writing blog? Well, because of the effect on creativity. I have a tremendous amount of anger that I'm working through - here's where it helps to write crime fiction. At the same time, I worry that it's too raw to distill into an effective story, that my fiction will turn tame, or that sometimes I don't feel as if I have very much to say.

Serious topic for a joyous first-birthday celebration? Sure. But a couple of people recently asked me how I freelance with small children around, and it's not as simple anymore as "write during naps" or "write in the morning, play in the afternoon." It's become a much more delicate balance of needs - mine, Rain Dog's, and the boys' - which grows even more delicate when fragile emotions are in play.

So, sure, business has taken a hit this year, and I don't expect the coming year to be any less of a roller coaster as Puck becomes more physically able. But it's worth it when I know I'm working as hard as I can to channel my creativity toward making life safer and more secure for my children.