It's a busy time in our household. The two year old turned three a couple of days ago, and I actually was showered and dressed by 8am on the day in question. The six year old turns seven next week, so I have to make sure I'm on the ball for that, too.
It's so hard to do anything but feed, and wind and snatch a shower or a nap between. I had forgotten so much: how many nappies a newborn can generate. How much washing she can create. How you stare at her face, thinking you'll remember it like this forever, and before you know it, it's overlaid by an older child's face, and you can't quite untangle the two. How it's possible to fall asleep in the most incredible positions, including upright while feeding, and even while writing a note to yourself that no longer makes any sense when you jerk awake and try to read it. How my husband can pull out all the stops and surprise me by shouldering responsibilities he's avoided for nearly seven years, and do it well.
I haven't begun to read my novel yet, nor do anything new - what a good job I did a little while I was waiting. My Grandad's book, which I felt so glad to be working on again, is languishing, uncared for, on my laptop once more. But I am managing to keep up with the writing magazines I subscribe to, and I know one day I'll have some time to myself again - surely? - and if I keep my dreams in the front of my mind, and the top of my 'wish I had time to do' list, I know I'll be able to tackle them again soon.