Sometimes I don't know if I'll manage to dig up that last little bit of push in order to keep my head above water. The task list seems endless. I'm just about to drown. My eyebrows sink under the surface.
Dishes.
3 loads of laundry.
Bathtime.
Grocery shopping.
Park playdate.
Music class.
Naptime (ideally, for both of us. But who am I kidding...)
Work projects.
Deadlines.
Balancing our accounts.
Cooking dinner.
Making and freezing babyfood.
And with very little sleep, it makes things even more jarring, even more intimidating.
Case in point: My day today.
My lovely other half, whom I love to pieces, thinks he's invincible. Whilst that's a lovely quality to have, it results in very long and drawn-out colds and coughs and illnesses. Which he doesn't help by smoking the occasional cigarette. But, I digress.
Last night, he woke me up when he got into bed at 2am from a long night at the office (I do like when he does this, because I like seeing his face before I drop off back to sleep). However, he wakes me up with his coughing at 4:30am. Which results in me not being able to get back to sleep. Not pleasant.
Then, our little lady decides to get the party started at 5:30am. Not hungry, not upset, just wakes up screeching with joy at starting her day and wanting to see us. Beautiful in retrospect, but at that moment, it was the vocal equivalent of a chainsaw.
I try and feed her in bed, but she keeps tapping on daddy's shoulder, screeching for his attention. He gave me a look like "oh, please, can I just get a few hours' sleep before I get up for work again?" Okay, fair enough. I feed her in her room, and then we start our day with games and music downstairs in the living room. Me in rat's-nest hair and boxer shorts, her in her little t-shirt and nappy. With such a grin on her face, I swear, she's oblivious to the fact that I'm in a terrible mood.
He comes downstairs a couple hours later.
"Hey, you ok?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Sorry I kept you up."
"Mm-hmm."
"Maybe try and rest today. Nap when she naps."
(Death stare.)
We went about our respective days, just getting on with things, he left for work, I had errands to run, parks to go to, groceries to buy, calls to make.
I could've started our morning with a snide comment or a martyr-ish comment about how I'm so tired and how I do so much. But I didn't. It's taken me a long time to learn, but I think I'm finally realising that the instant gratification of venting (although cathartic for about 2 seconds) ultimately ruins a moment, ruins a day, keeps you on separate teams. It's much better to find that little voice that whispers: hey, you both have a lot going on. Focus on the positive stuff, and everything else will fall into place.
Tonight, whilst my mister works damn hard at his job for all of us, I ended my day with a little girl, having had her warm milk, asleep on my shoulder, a velvety-soft hand clutching my arm. Her breathing deep and regular, her breath smelling sweet.
I realised that I did have it in me. I did have the strength to put all the pieces together without drowning. I did have the patience to let her know that no matter what, she would always see me smiling and covering her with kisses. I felt so proud that I could give her what she needed, and also be the woman and wife that I wanted to be.
I thought I could.
And today, I did.
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