You guys. Both babies are napping and I just made myself a cup of coffee and I’m sitting down to write.
I don’t think you understand how unprecedented this is. For the past ten weeks, I’ve been running around like a chicken with its whatever-blah-blah or staring blankly at the floor because I’ve been either too exhausted to lift up mine eyes to the heavens or stubbornly ignoring my scolding self-concious that says “Get up! You don’t deserve to sit down! There are dishes to be done, crumbs to be swept, and these things can’t wait!”
They can wait, you big meanie.
I’ve been going through these highs and lows of ENERGY! and I NEED A NAP OR EVERYONE WILL SUFFER! like a clueless hormone monster. Brandon will get texts from me on Monday that say “I’ll be a waddling sack of lard forever!” and by Wednesday I’m back to “Skin and bones, I tell you! All I’ve eaten today is a piece of popcorn and I found it in the couch! I’ll never again have time to eat!” It’s a good thing that I married the most gracious man ever. He encourages me too much. But I need that, apparently.
What I also need is to slow down. I need to eat when I’m hungry and eat well instead of going going going until both kids are asleep, then eating three potato chips because I’m too faint to stand up and make myself a meal. I need to take that nap when it’s there for the taking and, after waking up, stay in bed and just stare at the little life lying next to me. I need time to write. I need time to think. I need to leave the stroller in the car and teach my almost-two-year-old to stay near me while we’re in the store. How can I expect him to behave well if I don’t do the same?