To be a freelance writer—to work for yourself and call the shots and figure out how to make enough money to put food on the table and keep your baby diapered up—you’ve got to be a really motivated person. You’ve got to have goals, and you’ve got to want to fight to make them. But this first month of this new, beautiful year, I didn’t have it in me.
It's the last morning of 2016, and my kid and I are hanging out in my home office. Correction: I'm hanging out in my office; my kid is wreaking havoc. Toys, office supplies and books I've yet to read are scattered everywhere. The play area I've set up for her under the window remains neat and untouched.
I'm in planning mode, but half-heartedly. What do I want to accomplish next year, professionally and personally? How do I continue to grow my business and manage the never-ending needs of my tiny human? What am I going to do about childcare, now that she's so close to walking and will undoubtedly no longer be content to sit in my office and play while I work?
Then I look over and see my kid. She's got a marker in one hand and a book in her lap -- the picture of a future liberal arts major.