Craziness!

So now that my novel is officially complete, I've been seeking out literary agents to represent it. I emailed four yesterday and plan to email six more within the next few days. Ever tried writing a professional query with a baby screaming in the background? Not fun. It took all day. I should hear something back from the agents within a month...if I hear anything at all. If I don't hear anything, the process begins again with another 10 agents. Oh, goody.

In the meantime, I'm preparing for my mother to arrive tomorrow. I'm really excited about her visit: this is the first time she'll get to hold her grandson, and I will surprise her with a copy of my manuscript. The apartment, however, is a mess, and I want to clean house like I want a needle in my eye.

Just another day in paradise! :-)

Super Sunday

So, the Saints won the Super Bowl. Even if you cheered for the Colts, I'm not sure you could come away too disappointed with that result. Those guys on the Saints team were so excited to win. People in New Orleans were dancing in the streets. It was a night to remember.

Especially for me. First of all, I managed to blow half a jar of cheese sauce all over the inside of the microwave while making nachos for the game. It was probably the most epic mess I've ever made and took all of the third quarter to clean up. Second, I finished my novel.

Yeah, you heard me.

Fifty-nine thousand words and 259 pages. It is finished at last!

I suppose at the moment I typed the words "The End" I could have been more excited. I always imagined myself leaping from my chair and doing a sort of "endzone" dance while screaming incoherently. But at the moment of truth, I felt incredibly calm. I actually felt more excited about it yesterday when I took the manuscript to Office Depot to have it printed and bound. Seeing it in hard copy took my breath away. (I mean, it's over half a ream of paper!)

Now I just have to find a publisher. Maybe I'll save my endzone dance for that.

I thought long and hard about whom I would dedicate my novel to. There's my husband who is always encouraging me to reach my goals...my best friend, whom I consider my writing partner-in-crime...my mother, who is my biggest motivator...my mother-in-law, who deeply admires my writing...and my high school mentor, who is probably my most avid fan. There are so many people who have inspired me to reach this point, and whom I can't thank enough for all their support.

But in the end, only one possibility made sense to me: dedicate it to my newborn son. After all, my progeny will ultimately inherit my legacy and the result of all my accomplishments. And I believe it was the act of following through on my pregnancy and bringing him into the world that inspired me to follow through on completing my novel.

Yet I couldn't leave out all the others who helped me through the bulk of the project. So my dedication is thus:

To my son, and all those who have believed in me.

And now my son requires a feeding. Thanks for reading.

Motherhood

It's week three of my new life as a mother, and it feels like month three. Don't take that the wrong way. What I mean is that being a new mother is such an intense experience...it feels like 10 minutes crammed into one.

Of course, you could attribute some negativity to that first statement. Motherhood isn't exactly the dewey-eyed daydream that so many women claim it to be. I mean, darn it, I want to check my email, finish some writing projects, create a new piece of jewelry...not just sit and hold a fussy baby all day! When you have a 9 lb. son who can't support his own head in your arms, you can't do much of anything--including reach the TV remote. And then there's the forays into public that have become five times lengthier and more complicated than before: dress me, dress the baby, put baby in stroller, wheel stroller to car, take car seat out of stroller, put baby in car, put stroller in trunk, drive to destination, take stroller out of trunk...you get the idea. (I'd lament this loss of freedom more if I weren't so ecstatic to just be able to bend at the waist again. I'll gladly take raising a child for the next 18 years as long as I can tie my own shoes.)

At the same time, I wouldn't exactly define motherhood as "life interrupted." It's more like "life expanded." I look into my baby's slate-gray eyes and I love him though he is incapable of comprehending love, let alone having done anything deserving of it. I have never loved my husband more intensely than I have while watching him hold and kiss our son. Also, while gazing at my baby, I realize I have brought a unique life into the world--not having just knit together a body but a mind and a soul as well, using pieces of myself. The magnitude of that feeling...of responsibility, of ultimate creative power...is indescribable.

Of course, it's a weighty feeling. And it can get crowded out mopping up little rivers of regurgitated formula and washing load after load of soiled baby blankets. I get through the dirty and mundane parts of the job by taking one day at a time...and reminding myself that there's more to life than having a clean domicile. There's growing, succeeding, becoming stronger and more confident...which is what motherhood is helping me to do.

After two weeks of effort, I have finally gotten my son to nurse regularly. I've been off my Prozac for the past month, and things are looking up.