I Write For Her

I’m over at Project Hermosa today, talking about how “show, don’t tell” applies to motherhood as much as it does writing.  And I happened to have stumbled on this post I wrote three years ago and think it’s pretty relevant considering today’s guest post…

Being a mother?  It’s hard.  Being a mother and a writer?  It’s swallowing a bottle of guilty pills and asking that creepy puppet from the Saw movies to dance.  It’s a mind fuck, to put it pleasantly.

I’ve existed in all kinds of worlds and as of late, I’m existing in the world of motherhood.  And each time I put my ear up to the door, I’m hearing the resounding message that if you’re a mom then, well, you’re a mom.  That’s that, put a bow on it.  Call it a day.

But I’m more than a mom.  Shocker, I know.  I love Ava more than the world will allow, but I didn’t go to college to discuss the intricacies of butt paste all the live long day.  I went to college to waste my parents’ money and get black out drunk on the weekends like a normal person.  Oh, and to obtain a Creative Writing degree (with honors.  What what) so I could live my passion.  But once I grabbed my diploma, got married and moved to a new city, I didn’t have the direction I needed to make my talents worthwhile.  So instead of writing the next Great American Novel, I constantly watched The Office on Hulu and drank wine like it was my job because, in a way, it was.  At least writing sure as hell wasn’t.

But then?  Ava.  Ava came and so did hope.  There are mornings I go into her room and she’s ready, arms open, smile wide and I know this thing isn’t about me anymore.  Writing is no longer writing.  It’s responsibility.  I’m responsible for showing her a woman can be a loving mother, a smart woman, a person with a passion.  I’m responsible for curving my fingers to the cadence of words, knowing doing so just might give her a better future.  I’m responsible for her image of me.

And even though I’m plagued with long days, an aching back and more Mickey Mouse Clubhouse than a person should be forced to tolerate, I know my passions wouldn’t be realized without her.

So here’s to writing.  Here’s to motherhood.  Here’s to taking life by the balls one word at a time.

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9 Comments Add yours

  1. This line: “I’m responsible for her image of me.” I am going to repeat that to myself every morning when I wake up.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Ericka Clay says:

      Thank you – it’s definitely something of which I have to constantly remind myself. Like today, when she yelled, “Dude, hurry up!” to van in front of us, it made me realize I might need to dial back my road rage a bit! 🙂

      Like

      1. When you hear stuff like that come out of their mouths, it’s always a wakeup call. My daughter’s recent language has shown me how often I use the word “frickin'” in a rather harsh tone. As in, “there’s FRICKIN’ crap all over this house!” At least I don’t use the word I’m REALLY thinking.

        Like

  2. Nicole Marie says:

    This is absolutely beautiful, Ericka.

    “I’m responsible for curving my fingers to the cadence of words…” Love that line.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ericka Clay says:

      Thank you so much, Nicole!

      Like

  3. The Hook says:

    Ava truly is an angel.
    Cherish these days, Ericka, for they don’t last.
    (I’ve tried, but I cannot stop the aging process in children.)

    Like

    1. Ericka Clay says:

      Thank you, Robert. She’s my heart. If you ever figure out the aging process thing, give me a call!

      Like

      1. The Hook says:

        Will do, Ericka.

        Like

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