Essays in parenting

My finger hovers over the mute button, poised to push at the hint of a scream from downstairs. It's my favorite music playing, the melody that makes me solve whatever writing mess I'm currently in. I play this when I need to push through, a musical spell that protects my working mind. Today, I hit pause for my daughter's voice. And I wonder:

If there will ever be a time so simple that I can reclaim 9:54 minutes all to myself again.
If there is a self that can be contained so neatly within this rhythm.
If my mind will always remain half broken-open to this new voice.
If clarity of thought and parenting must always be at odds.

I hit pause. After changing a diaper, I click the little arrow that circles back around. And once more I begin to try.