- Virginia Woolf-
I've been thinking about this quote a lot. Not only in regards to postnatal depression, and living live under a bell jar. Also in relation to what it's like being a mum at home.
Many wise mothers have warned me that it's horrible to be "trapped" at home with a child.
I used to think, trapped, come on, all I have to do is stick the baby in the Ergo carrier or the pram and we can escape, together. But I understand now that it's a different kind of trapped.
I think motherhood enriches your life in more ways than you could ever imagine. But for all the riches to fit in, you have to make room. And the something that has to give is space. Mental space, physical space, your own space, head space. I miss my space. I do. Even when I have it, when I'm swimming, for example, and I know the baby is safe at home, and I'm swimming lap after lap, my head still isn't free like it used to be. It's always, somehow, with my baby.
At home, the baby's things have slowly crawled into every possible corner. More and more things are being moved into the garage. Our toes are blue from their encounters with the baby gym and the bouncers. I am fine with that. It's lovely and it's necessary. But I can't remember that crafting in my own space has ever felt this important to me before Matilda arrived.
Crafting gives me head space, feet space, mental space.
I have just recently finished clearing out a little corner for my desk and my shelves and my silly doilies, and just looking at it makes me feel a teensy bit calmer.
It's there waiting for me.