It bugs me that this is such a big deal, because for several years I produced an average of five pages a day, seven days a week. And it bugs me that it took me almost four months to get to this point, because everyone tells me that once Gareth starts walking, everything is going to get a lot harder. My mother tells me I started walking when I was nine months old, so I have this feeling that the clock is ticking away, and I only have five months to accomplish whatever I'm going to get done in 2008.
Probably it's not as dire as all that, and anyhow, panic does not make me work faster or better. I need to stop seeing the time between now and Gareth's first steps as the writing equivalent of a sprint, and to reframe it as a marathon.
Maybe I should clear a new space among all the other things that are already magnetized to my refrigerator, so I can put up a picture of that runner who won the New York Marathon right after giving birth to her daughter.