More often than not, I feel like I’m hanging by a thread. So close to giving up. On what? I’m not sure exactly, but then I realize giving up isn’t actually an option I have.
I’m not living up to my own expectations of being a mother. The house isn’t clean, the baby isn’t bathed, one kids hungry, two kids are hungry. Ok, three kids are hungry, and what am I doing? I’m staring at my phone.
And I went for a run the other night to release some stress (from a number of things I saw on my phone) and for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t do it. Two miles in, I started to walk. And cry too.
The world is crumbling around me and I feel helpless. If I could just convince myself to turn it all off, maybe I’d feel a little better. But I know I could never convince myself that it actually went away.
But kids have a way of slowing you down sometimes, and in the middle of the chaos, Crosley, the one I butt heads with the most, saw the spine of her baby book and asked why her name was on it.
I told her it’s a book all about her and that it’s my most favorite book (which is true). She asked me to read it to her. Cover to cover.
And poor thing had to listen to me cry through every word as I remembered how unconditionally I love her.
She’s still innocent and pure. Trusting and moldable. And it’s my job to raise her to be the absolute best she can be.
Why do we keep hanging on when we feel like giving up? For the ones that love us.
