Let a joy keep you.

I have been stumbling into my studio in the wee hours

of the night in between feedings.

In the midst of exhaustion.

Because I find that I must create. I must. 

It's like breathing now. And I get antsy and depressed and feel icky without it.

And while I have no time or energy to create,

my muse is on overdrive,

filling up my head and heart with ideas and experiments to try.  

And so, against my better judgement,

I go in and tear up little pieces of paper

and lay them side by side and glue them together

and paint on them, then write on them,

then cover them up and start all over.

My little man who doesn't sleep or pee pee in the potty
who can throw a knock down, drag out tantrum in a single bound
who gets up at around 2 or 3 am every night to crawl in bed with us.
Last night at around 2 or 3 I was playing in the studio, which is right next to his bedroom,
 and he stumbled in and sat on my lap for a while I cut and glued and painted and cut and glued.

Then, he grabbed a piece of paper and tore up a little piece of yellow paper.
With such certainty and confidence he said,
"Momma, this piece goes here."

Then I gave him his own paper to make his own art
and over and over he repeated:
"This is my art. This is your art."
Sometimes he'd even throw in,
"Oh momma, I like that piece. That looks really nice."
"This is my art. This is your art."
And yes, I'm paying for it this morning.
but it was worth it.