I've realised where all my time has gone, but I'm not quite sure why it has taken me this long to work it out (perhaps because I have a Brain of Mush), but at least I have worked it out.
This time last year I had a 4yo, a 2yo, and a 3mo baby, and I was writing a shorty a week. Now that the small boy is at school, and the small girl at playgroup every day, you'd think I'd be managing a shorty every day, but no...the baby has given up her morning nap.
Sounds trivial, doesn't it. Not exactly world-stopping news. Rather boring coffee-morning-type news, in fact (and I'm talking here about mothers' coffee mornings, rather than the somewhat more interesting Novel Racers' coffee mornings).
But a year ago, when both the baby and the small girl were napping, I had ten hours a week in which I could reckon to write effectively (my brain doesn't work in the evenings). This dropped to about six hours a week, and, now, I have none.
And that's it, until the baby starts playgroup in fifteen months time.
But, you know what? In fifteen years time, I want to look back on this pre-school bit and remember it as a time I enjoyed with the kids. So often, in teashops and such places, older women come up to me (with my children) and say, 'make the most of them, they grow up so quickly', and I think, yeah, yeah, you've forgotten how hard it is; but they haven't. They just know that this is a really good bit. So, despite the six hours a day I'll get in a few years time, I'm not in a hurry for my kids to trot off to school.
Not even when I wish I could write more.