Writing: My Second Unpaid Job

I guess it's not really fair to call either of my "unpaid jobs" by that name.
The first is being a mother. It's a round-the-clock-gig, no matter how early I have to get up the next day for work. Thankfully, I have a loving husband who takes over baby duty the night before my alarm is set for the ungodly hour of 5am, so sometimes I actually get more than three hours of solid sleep. It's nice. But being a mother is not a job. I love being a mom. I love spending time with my kid (most of the time), and I wouldn't change a thing. (Except maybe a few extra hours of sleep, and less biting while nursing, but those are small things to ask for, right?)
Second, I do not get paid to write. At least not yet. It's been a dream of mine to publish something-- anything-- just to get my name out there. Maybe some day I'll be on some bestselling list, even if it's not as well-known as the New York Times bestsellers. But I do want to publish.
For the past two days, I've sat in a kitchen chair that doubles as a computer chair until I can afford a replacement, for about six hours each day, writing, outlining, and researching. As I type this, my feet and buttcheeks are numb. My wrists ache from the typing and the awkward angle at which I am forced to do so. My eyes feel like sandpaper.
But it's worth it.
 I'm writing. I'm finally writing, after a long period of writer's block, and it feels good.
I finished the beginning of my story tonight. I hate beginnings. They suck. They're horrible to write. But I did it.
3721 words down today,
5871 words total.
I’m going to bed.