Today we welcome a third cat in our household. A kitten rather. It’s a 10th b-day present for my daughter. We got it at the pound and she must be spayed before we bring her home. I know she’s just a cat, but my maternal instincts dusted themselves off and has me cleaning house (nesting) for her arrival.
It’s rather silly, I know, but hey, I need any excuse to clean my house. I’ll take it in whatever form required to get me busy.
I realized something as I blow-dried my hair. The blow dryer scared my kitties at first and then they became accustomed to the sound. In fact, they were lying at me feet while I was running the hair dryer. I thought of the new baby and of how she must familiarize herself to such noises like, uh-hum, the vacuum.
See, my cats are still deathly afraid of the vacuum. Their tails get bushy, backs arch. It’s a completely threatening machine of horrors that will surely mutilate them upon capture. Could it be, uh-hum, that it’s a foreign sound to them, perhaps a sound they don’t hear often enough? Naw. Come on.
Alright, I confess. But in my defense, housecleaning isn’t the only thing I gave up to write. I pretty much gave up everything I used to do. Jigsaw puzzles come to mind. I always had one out on the dining table. I would take frequent breaks throughout my days to sit at the table and truly enjoy the task of piecing together a work of art. It was fun, relaxing, and when finished, evidence of accomplishment. I haven’t done a puzzle in three years.
I could go on forever about what I’ve sacrificed for writing a book that may or may not ever see the light of day. To me accomplishment of my book is when I see it in bookstores. A huge risk to take for the sacrifices, big and small, and the time I’ll never get back. If I could stop, I would. And I won’t.
What sacrifices have you made? I know there’s more than one, you don’t have to mention them all if you don’t want. Name one at least.