There's days when the idea that I'm a writer seem completely foreign to me. I wake and eat a quick breakfast. I take my big boy to the train station. I feed the baby. I take my daughter to school. I look after the baby. I run errands for everyone. There's the housework and the other things that keep me busy out of the house. Just the regular; bills, visits with people you expect to keep up friendships with, getting petrol in the car, buying food, I could go on and on. I make lunches, dinners, look after the baby, collect people from school, train stations, and wait with them at doctors and government departments. I finally get the baby to bed, run around the corner shop for yet another thing we need and finally I have some time to myself.

By now I'm tired. I've been up since just after six this morning and have done all of the above and more. The only time I wrote was when I sat for twenty minutes in a cafe and scribbled in my journal and when I chatted online with my mum for half an hour. So much for writing.

But I did write. I am writing now. I can call myself a writer because I wrote today.

When I first had the baby I felt I might never get another moment to write again. It was just how I felt. I knew I would. While I was in hospital I grabbed any chance I could. It was much more difficult at home to do the same. In hospital all I had to do was look after the baby and wash and feed myself. Once home there was everyone else. They were terrific with the housework and meals, but I did have this demanding baby who just wanted to feed every other moment of the day.

I'm glad he's into a routine of long sleeps at night. I get the nights to myself. I'm often tempted to stay up late using the time for myself. I wasn't surprised when it wiped me out. The feeling of not having to be doing something constantly went to my head a little. Exhaustion soon claimed me. Instead of learnt to go straight from getting bubby to be to getting this done, if I hadn't already. I could then use some time to myself to post these entries online, read some email and that kind of thing.

My point is I don't exactly call this writing, not to the standard I had, but it is something. I've written today. That's what makes me a writer. Okay, it's not on my projects. I wanted to do so much more by now. But at this point I need to focus on what I am managing to achieve instead of what I'm not doing.

I have a six month old baby, two teens and an unemployed husband. I wanted to kiss him last night when he tried to offer some practical help with my writing. After a few of his ideas he just laughed and gave up. I would have kissed him, but I had the baby on my lap feeding and it made the kiss quite impossible. He knows he does as much as he can. He already minds the baby while I do things. He tries to keep out of my hair and keep busy by painting and taking the baby with him for a walk. It's just that time when life is difficult.

Anyway, not much to say tonight. I'm tired and am going through the motions. I know things will change again and I'll have the time I need for my writing. But for now I'm achieving whatever it is I can manage. It might not seem like much, but it's at least something.