We are survivors

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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!!