The baby climbs on her big sister, and I hear my beautiful three year old cry out "I saaiiiiiiiid, NO BABY." I don't remember "said" being three syllables before.
I pull both my children into my arms and onto my face, wondering briefly if I am in danger of being smothered. My older girl giggles and says "Mommy, you have all the bears!"
I smile. I hug. I soften. But I don't get off the floor.
I feel like I want to justify, to explain, to validate why I'm so tired.
Well, the baby woke up last night.
Well, we were out on the nature trail this morning.
Well, I did have company this weekend.
But you know what? That's hogwash. Poppycock. Hooey.
I'm tired. Because, well, I'm tired. I'm a person who really likes sleep. And rest. And breaks. Always have been. And I'm tired.
And that urge to apologize for it, to say why I'm worthy of the tired is just me kicking the stuffing out of myself again. Doubting. Comparing. Shenanigans.
So, you know what?
Dear, sweet working/stay at home/work at home mom of a newborn/toddler/teenager, I see you. You're tired. And I don't mean that in the way my MIL does when she tells me I look tired every time we Skype and it makes me want to
And who the flipping freak cares why.
So let's all sit together at the same table and raise a huge