I spent time today cleaning up the nursery. One of the tasks was to clean up my collection of stuffed animals that Clementine will inherit. So I sat down with a washcloth and commenced scrubbing. It was a transitional moment for me.
As a fiction writer, I have a vivid imagination. So if I'm handling a stuffed animal, I treat it like a real animal. No apologies here for that! But when I sat on the floor and started cleaning, I didn't treat them like real animals. I treated them like dirty pillows. And I realized, that's me thinking like a mom.
I'm not worried that being a mom will hamper my imagination. It's just interesting to observe these gradual changes in my thought process as I prepare to take on a totally new role. I anticipate that being a mother will enrich my writing in all sorts of ways.