Really, really hard.
I'm working. I have deadlines. I have professional pride. And I have a baby underfoot.
During the daytime, I can usually manage two hours of work while Helena naps or entertains herself. There's a couple more hours of "free" time, but that gets used up in sweeping, laundry, preparing dinner, the occasional excursion outdoors, and my morning coffee — all essential activities that cannot be sacrificed. My world would collapse if these were not performed.
I work when J-F comes home from work, and on his days off, and on the weekends. Needless to say, that doesn't leave a whole lot of time for enjoying each other's company. Sigh.
I'm tired. But I do feel I'm accomplishing something a little bigger than the financial contribution to the household.
I have seriously cut down on the procrastination. While I used to blog to avoid some unpleasantness or other, now it's my reward for staying on track.
Ironically, the topic of working at home with kids has made a showing on CE-L this week, but I've been too busy to read and glean anything from that conversation.
I'm still hoping that this work schedule will somehow settle into itself, and that I'll master travel at the speed of light and acquire the ability to leap tall deadlines in a single bound.
It helps that Helena is independant and is quick to find a way to occupy her time. I just have to finetune the eyes in the back of my head to ensure it doesn't involve the contents of the garbage can.
Reality does not yet match the perfect picture in my head — the one where I'm well coiffed and quickly tapping away at the keyboard, baby at my feet learning to read, purring cats curled up nearby, Beethoven, an aura of peace and productivity and efficiency engulfing our clean and neatly ordered and stylish apartment. But we get a little closer every day.
Still, this is harder than I thought it would be. It's pretty hard.