I have struggled with figuring out how to embrace this new vocation while not having to watch my original career float away on a helium balloon. From age 5, my talents as a performer made up almost 100 percent of who I thought Emily Smith was, and if I may be so bold, I had some success within my field. It was never my intention (and isn't still) to enter into motherhood with a ceremonial waive of farewell to this huge slice of myself. So, as each day passes and that balloon seems but a tiny speck in the sky, I dig my heels further in. However, it has occurred to me that maybe one of the things keeping me from immersing myself into these limited days of puzzles, purees and pat-a- cake, is the fear that in so doing, a crucial part of me is dying.
However, weeks like this make me want to sing praises for the gift of this time at home. I have been able to bask in the delightful sunshine of my children, and ironically feel more in the head space than ever to be creative and accept work, should the opportunity arise. Someone said to me "Emily, you can have it all. You just can't have it all at the same time." I fought this statement tooth and nail, and in protest, last year piled way too much on my plate. Starring in a show, 24 weeks pregnant, alone with a 10 month old with my husband 8 hours away, was possibly up there with one of the most insane endeavors of my lifetime. What on earth, except that the term “nervous breakdown” is not always used as a hyperbole, was I trying to prove, and to whom?!
So, this beautiful and rewarding week ended with a perfect Broadway button. Zachary has picked up our dinnertime pleasantries, and at the table every evening turns to Steve and says “How was work?” Tonight he added to his dialogue with a turn to me and said "How was home?"
"Home was good Zachary. Home was really, really good."
P.S. What’s a pants suit?