Inspiration

Luke has been my inspiration for this blog, for my photography, for my writing. But today I am uninspired. Luke is right beside me sleeping in his car seat on the floor (amazing, right? they change so quickly), yet my mind is blank. What to write?

I got some good pictures today when I didn't want to move. Luke fell asleep on my chest and I thought of all the millions of things I could do if I put him down in his crib, but I was so enjoying the warm, clean smell off the top of his head that I couldn't put him down. I risked waking him by carrying him into the bedroom to get the camera. Then I sat back down, propped the camera up on the change table and had a little photo shoot. See? You can get things done while enjoying your baby!

It's been kind of tough for me having Luke awake most of the day. Not because I need a nap (which is true), but more because I feel like the house is in a shambles. I would love a half hour uninterrupted time to race around, change the laundry, put the dishes in the dishwasher, sweep the floor, wipe the counters, fold up the millions of receiving blankets that migrate around the house, clean the bathroom mirror, wash the living room window, dust the bookshelf. Okay, a half hour would not be enough. But it would be a wonderful start.

Luke is too big for me to carry him around in my arms while I do some of those things. So instead of lugging him around and breaking my back, I leave him in his rocking chair and run to the basement to switch the laundry, he starts to cry, I leave it half done and run back upstairs to soothe him, he quiets down and I run back downstairs to finish switching the laundry...an hour has gone by and the dry laundry isn't folded, I am out of breath, and Luke is crying again.

Some days I go on strike. The crying really gets to me. So I do whatever it takes to keep him from crying and abandon any task that takes my attention away from him. Those days are quiet and pleasant, but at the end of the day when the sun stretches out lazily on my floor the dirt is even more evident; my work has piled up around my ears and I become depressed when I look in the kitchen. There's got to be a middle ground, but I have yet to find it. I guess I have his whole life to discover it though, so I'll try not to get frustrated. And still there are these sweet moments when he sleeps on my chest and I smell his hair that make the mess more bearable.