September 22, 2009

Not perfect

Not even close.

I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.

Didn’t get out of bed until 7:30 this morning.  Big Daddy was home, but Baby Bee was still sleeping and Big Daddy was overseeing the kids and I snatched an extra half hour of sleep to stave off what is basically constant exhaustion.

When I came down the stairs and saw the state of the living room, I actually considered going back to bed.  It would have been so easy to pivot on the landing and pretend I hadn’t seen it.

I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.

We were late for speech therapy.  Baby Bee cried on and off the whole time.  Out through the door, try to nurse, Baby Bee gets angry, calm her down, back through the door, Baby Bee gets angry, back out through the door.

Therapist says Littlebit isn’t expanding her vocabulary as much as she’d like.  I tell her I feel we’re seeing progress at home, but then I start to doubt myself.

I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.

Baby Bee cries the afternoon away.  The house is still a mess. Big Daddy leaves to celebrate a co-workers marriage.  Both little kids spend most of the afternoon crying.

When we leave to go get diapers, I forget my bank card, return home to find the dog has already torn through the kitchen trash and then find my bank card in my pocket.

Baby Bee cries the entire time we’rein Target cutting short my plans to spend some of Littlebit’s birthday money on some cute new clothes.

Return home to find the dog has torn the garbage out of the can that I put back into the can when I came back to the house to find my bank card.

I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.

At one point all three children were crying and I considered either yelling or crying myself.  Littlebit seems as constantly exhausted as I am, refusing to nap, not sleeping well over night.  Once dinner time rolls around, I kepe her awake because I don’t want her to sleep from 5 until midnight and then be up for the day.

Baby Bee amassed about 2 hours of sleep since we woke up this morning.   And that she got in my arms.  I have no idea what mental math is.  Somethings smells bad in the kitchen sink and the laundry is starting to take over the house again.

I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.

I want to sew.  Or scrapbook.  Or even crochet. I want to create something.  I’ve been mulling over a home dec. project in my head for weeks, but don’t have the time to set up anything before I’d get drug away again.  How do people with more children than me and more to do than me do so much more than me?

I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.

Why is success so hard to measure?  Why can’t I be content with the fact that my kids had a needy day and I gave what I had to them?  Why do I think about the floor that wasn’t swept and the laundry that wasn’t done and the book case that’s cluttered and the bathroom that needs to be wiped?  Why do I second guess and doubt?  Why do I get so upset about letting Littlebit watch more t.v. then I want her to when her “shows” during Baby Bee’s crying spells offer the only respite available?

Why do I get upset when the Princess relates how long the evening was to Big Daddy when he gets home from his evening out?  Why can’t I just paste on a cheery smile and pretend it was no big deal?

I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.

Tied Up One Reply to “Not perfect”


One comment on “Not perfect

    Author’s gravatar

    u r a good mommy :0)

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