Maker Artist Mama

When I’m not creating, I’m thinking about what I’m going to create next.
Things to write down.. ideas.. thinking about how the photo of right now would be, and how I need it.
How I need to climb right out of myself to capture this. this. this.
The images of motherhood – in these short, precious, intense days ::
Crouching in the shower with a chubby toddler attached to the breast, her eager mouth ready to latch on with every pass of a drooping boob as you reach for different soaps

Balancing, sleeping baby in arms while wiping the butt of a 4 year old, his underwear fell off too – and before he starts to wail, quickly, one handedly – pull them up, button his trousers, all without waking the baby. hiss at him to flush the toilet. ignore the fact that you didn’t wash your hands.

One leg perched on the counter top as you cradle a baby at the breast and butter the bread for ‘a sandwich inside a sandwich’

you’re a fucking ninja.
you’re an unsung hero.

One handed swipe text writing stories. poems. things. as fast as I can in my phone notes
as I breastfeed, as I ignore, as I emptily nod my head along to whatever the kids are trying to tell me
Before the words just disappear forever. gone. like that. into the ether.

among the mixture of great ideas and intentions for the future
lie the recipes, the meal plans, the notes of house keeping and taking care of everyone else
the art of mundane, of privilege

Are artists narcissists?
do narcissists ask if they are narcissists? and can they trust the people around them to honestly answer them?
stroking egos and hand held pedestals.

my aloe plant is dying.
someone told me it was stressed out
which stressed me out
how can i kill a desert plant with too much sun
how can i know how much water a desert plant needs, when there’s monsoons and night time dew.

her sweat drenches my back, as she sleeps in the afternoon sun
the stolen moments for me to decide what i’ll do
hustling children outside and snarling at them when they clamber up the stairs
how can their little bodies be so loud
how can their whispers be so defiantly loud
deafening breath tickling your inner ear