Worn

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One More Day

In light of my kitchen looking like this, my oatmeal has broccoli bits in it from the measuring cup I used last night.

kitchen

My husband had to dig through these clean clothes to find his work clothes:

laundry

I was going to take a photo of the bathroom but considering my three year old is standing to pee, I don’t think you want to see the damage in there! I would also reveal the pile of dirty diapers next to the changing pad (the diaper pail is iced over outside), but I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me or how I run my home (I also don’t want Child Protective Services showing up at my front door!).

I began crying when the alarm woke me to wake my husband this morning (because if he’s in charge of the alarm, it’ll end up waking the whole house) because I had just gotten the baby back to sleep after a long night. “I can’t do this anymore!” I cried. “I need sleep to function!” He replied, “Well, you can do it one more day.” He is right. If I break down the daunting tasks ahead of me, I can handle one more day. However, if I imagine how my exhaustion is going to end up being the demise of my children’s futures, I will likely fall apart and get nothing done today.

One of my greatest desires is to be one of *those* wives. The kind who homeschools her children flawlessly, whose home is spotless, dinner is served promptly at 6pm, children are bathed nightly and put into bed on time. However, the reality is that sometimes at 9:30pm, my son has perched himself several feet off the ground naked and has no plans of coming down; my five month old is crying because she rolled herself over while sleeping and promptly woke herself up; dinner (if it was even served at all, many times it’s a PB&J for my son) is out on the stove ready to be stored in the fridge; the smoke detector is going off because I left a burner on; my phone is ringing; and I am tripping over Hot Wheels, Leog’s, or Thomas train tracks to complete just *one* of these tasks. Forget time to use the bathroom or blow my nose.

So, at the wise words of my husband, I can do one more day. One task at a time. Chances are, my house will still be a disaster at the end of the day, but if I’ve continued to steadily work and have not just given up and passed out in bed at 3pm, I will be satisfied. My children are always fed, *fairly* clean, and *mostly* happy. Right now, in the midst of this exhausting postpartum period, those things seem to be the most important, and it appears that I can gauge my success by them.

Next on my agenda: put baby down for nap and tackle those dishes!!

A Day Like Mine

I would start this at the beginning of my day , but my days have no beginning. I’ll start at my shower.

Get in the shower. Become flooded with flashbacks. Succumb to flashbacks. Inevitably hear, “WIIIPE! Wipe me! Mommy, WIIIPE me!” Half dry off to wipe a hiney. Finish shower. Do about 15-20 minutes of learning time with child. Clean a room. Fall asleep in the hallway, half listening for the baby to wake up, half trying to play trains and cars. Succumb to flashbacks in my dreams. Wake up to a crying baby and a child tripping over me. Ask baby where this lengthy nap was during the night! Nurse baby. Feed child lunch. Nurse baby. Put baby down for lengthy nap (again, where was this last night?). Play with child. Get ready for work. Nurse baby. Put on professional and outgoing mask. At work, feel the confidence I ought to feel everywhere. Teach people coping skills that I refuse to implement in my own life. Go home. Succumb to flashbacks. Nurse baby. Make feeble dinner for the family. Nurse baby. Put baby down for nap. Attempt to converse with husband. Get child a bath or shower, and start stories. Nurse baby. Finish stories. Put baby to bed. Attempt to converse with husband. Go to bed. Succumb to flashbacks. Nurse baby. Baby gulps three times, unlatches, and passes out. Spray baby (my body doesn’t respond to only three gulps very well). Go to bed. Nurse baby. Go to bed. Succumb to flashbacks. Hear *thunk. thump thump thump thump*. Roll out of bed in time for a child to dive onto my pillow, legs flailing on husband’s face. Watch husband sleep through it. Give husband a dirty look for sleeping through it. Take child back to his own bed/go to the twin bed in the nursery. Nurse baby. Wonder why she’s not sleeping. Nurse baby. Watch baby smile and then poop. She’s awake now (it’s 3am)! Watch baby as she works on her rolling over skills (glad one of us is rested enough to work on milestones). Nurse baby. Co-sleep from exhaustion. Wake up to see if I rolled on baby. Nurse baby. Finally coherent enough to think to de-booger her nose. She can finally breathe but is fully awake now (it’s 6am)! Watch baby work on her rolling over skills. Baby starts to yawn at 7am. Child wakes up. Wake husband up. Family breakfast. Put baby down for nap. Take a shower.