I opened another tab and logged into my Notion account. I created a new page, and gave it the title, This is what I want.

My baby cried out again.

I fling my hands up in the air and angry glared at my husband.

“How long is this going to go on?!” I shouted.

I walked over to the monitor, stared at it with piercing eyes and said, “Don’t you know I’m trying to build a life for you? I can’t do that when you need me to put you back to sleep every 15 minutes.”

Then, still staring at the monitor but talking to my husband, “My hair is falling out like crazy! Even more than postpartum hair loss. You know that really only happens with hormone imbalances? Of course mine are out of whack because I NEVER get any sleep.”

He doesn’t respond.

My baby cries out again.

“I want to smash this fucking monitor,” I say as I turn and head up the stairs, again.

I open the door, walk to his crib in the dark and feel around for his body. I get his arms in the sleep sack and zip him up. Maybe he was cold?

“Alright, let’s go. Mama’s here,” I say in a tired and annoyed voice as I pick him up.

I take him back to the chair, lift my shirt and he nurses again.

I sit there realizing how on the verge I am to screaming.

At him. At nothing. At everything.

Like it is just one nerve ending away from being my response.

Like luck intervened more-so than actual restraint.

I wonder at that.

I am sitting in what should be the perfect picture of calm. A mother holding her precious baby, as he nurses and dozes back to sleep.

But I am pretending.

I’m holding a calm pose, but my heart is racing. My muscles are tense. I’m barely breathing. I’m anything but calm.

I realize how uncared for I feel.

How I don’t feel like its worth it to cry or scream.

Because no one will come to comfort me.

Regardless, by the time I leave the room 6 minutes later, the intense urge to scream is gone.

I still feel furious.

But it’s been stuffed down deep into my belly, where I hold all my tension.

The trap door has been shut.

I don’t have the time or energy to figure out how to open it.

Maybe another day.

In my first Rekindle letter, I mentioned that it was important to me to create art in this season of life and motherhood.

That was a challenge when I started this newsletter in January, but I had no idea how it would intensify over the coming months.

My baby is crying again.

I am proud of what I’ve created so far these past few months. And I would call several of the letters, or at least sections of them, art.

But, on nights like tonight, I feel this constricting feeling like Rekindle is devolving into a mommy blog where I am complaining about the hardships of motherhood.

I am trying to capture the moment, honestly. But I don’t really know what I’m trying to say today.

I keep coming back to fire metaphors to find my way.

And I realize that what I am experiencing, and trying to capture through writing about my challenges navigating my kid’s needs and my desires, is universal.

The personal is always universal.

Fire does not sustain itself. Natural elements will always introduce unforeseen variables.

If creativity is important to you, like it is to me, I’m sure you have similar barriers to maintaining it in your life.

It doesn’t just happen. It requires effort and attention to maintain.

Wherever you’re at on your journey, know that you’re not alone.

And that the pursuit of creativity is not in vain.

I feel like I have taken a few steps backward because my mind feels more chaotic than clear.

My baby is crying again.

But I have all of this evidence that I have been creating.

I have had ideas and have acted on them!

My creative work is making a difference in my life.

And, I’m humbled to say, in the lives of others.

I get responses to my work (in one form or another) every week.

My default is to acknowledge it with a “thank you,” but then dismiss it. Each reply or acknowledgement is deeply meaningful to me. I don’t dismiss them out of disregard, but so that it doesn’t “go to my head” or change how I write.

My baby is crying AGAIN.

When I look at the big picture, getting feedback about what I’m sharing is so valuable.

My baby is crying again. We’ll be back at urgent care tomorrow.

It reminds me of my belief that creativity is bigger than oneself. That it comes from outside of oneself and flows through you.

It reminds me that creating is a joy and an honor (not a burden) because I learn and discover things I otherwise wouldn’t have access to.

Receiving acknowledgement that something resonates feels like I’ve done my part well. I’ve paid attention. I’ve listened. I’ve channeled something bigger than myself.

I need to look at the big picture more frequently.

Because in all the small pictures, I don’t feel I am doing my part well.

Maybe next week I’ll get to write about the vision I have and what I want.

But for tonight, I’m stress eating tortilla chips.

Sending them down the trap door as company for my mom rage.

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I appreciate you! ❤

Warmly,
Jennifer