I hear talking on the monitor, my studio time comes to an end soon. 

My mind races, way quicker than My hand, quicker than the paper can take, panicky because the path I’ve taken requires more time than I have. I knew that this would happen, that’s why I’ve been hesitant to come into my studio during naptime breaks. Now I deal with my emotions, I’ve barely touched the surface of my “recycle old journal project” and I want to go deeper. I’ve been challenged by combining my old journal pages with paint and drawing. The words on the pages are charged, all about going through infertility, the twitch, and the loss of my mom. As I work on the paper, blank to start, then painting and drawing in the present moment with present emotions and feelings, reading, remembering the past, mixing it all up inside me and on the paper, it’s difficult. 

  I get in conflicts between my head, thinking, trying to control when that’s the last thing I want to do. But I know it’s the process, it’s processing. Something Jack and Fiona are learning about all the time. Processing emotions, difficult ones, painful ones. 

  The babies are quiet again. They’ve had a great nap today. I feel uncomfortable about the rest of the day because I want to be down here working, but I want to be fully present upstairs. I need to do that, nothing is meaningful if I’m only half in it. I need to think of a fun activity to do with the babies. What could we do?    

Oh no, I hear Jack, he’s crying. 

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