Ideally, I'd like to talk about how amazing and easy the past few weeks have been. How I've never felt so alive and interconnected to the world. How having another child has brought me this new and energized sense of purpose.
But then of course, I'd be lying.
Not one to typically complain, I've struggled with how to put my feelings into words. I wanted to put a positive spin on the whole thing; you know, give the sunshine and rainbows schtick. After all, if there's anyone that can turn lemons into lemonade, it's me. Like I've said in previous posts, I can be almost maddeningly optimistic even in the craziest of times.
This, however, is not one of those times.
It's been hard. It's been frustrating and tiring, take a deep breath and count to ten kind of hard. I gotta tell ya, I'm feeling a little a lot like a train wreck. My back is killing me, my boobs are sore and don't even get me started on the havoc sleep deprivation has reeked on my skin. The dark circles are ominous. Not to mention, my brain waves are running at all-time lows and I have officially become a 24-hour diner to little man. Add Bug (who is much like a bull in a china shop) to the equation and you've got yourself a whole lot of crazy right now.
And the thing is, it's not really about the physically draining aspect of it. It's not the sleeplessness or the temper tantrums when Bug wants to be the center of attention. It's not really about the backaches or the pounding headaches or the dog barking obnoxiously (and for no good reason) when I have just gotten everyone to fall asleep.
It's the large pile of two day old laundry sitting on my vanity. It's the load still sitting in the dryer that's been dried twice, waiting to make it's way to the vanity with the rest of the laundry. It's the fridge that needs to be cleaned out, the junk drawers that need serious de-cluttering, the baby mementos that need to be organized and put downstairs with the rest. It's about the soap buildup in the shower, the floors that need to be scrubbed, the windows that need to be wiped of sticky handprints.
It's the desire to hang pictures and decorate for Fall. To buy new linen and find a new tablecloth. It's the need to get crafty. To find a fun project that Bug and I can do together. To take the kids to the park and have a picnic without all of the bells and whistles that seem to have to accompany us everywhere we go. (Honestly, it feels like a circus with diaper bags and strollers and such)
It's finding time for myself to exercise away the deflated stomach. And then finding more time to relax doing the things I love most like writing or reading a good novel. It's making time for Mr. B and I to continue to connect at the end of each day. It's a deep-rooted need to still retain some spontaneity, to go out and do something without having to confer and schedule.
When you get to the root of it all, it's simply about adding an extra ball or two to the juggling act without faltering and dropping all of the rest. And right now, it just feels like I'm struggling to keep two or three in the air, much less the other six that are waiting to be thrown at me. To a degree, it seems so silly and dramatic to feel like that. With everything that I know, with all of the positive thoughts that I'm cramming into my brain constantly, I feel so absurd.
How stupid to complain about seemingly little things. How insensitive of me, when others are dealing with much more. I knew things were going to be a bit tough once Baby Bean got thrown into the mix. I knew what I was in for.
Just like I know that this too shall pass. That it will all fall into place and I'll find my own rhythm. I know that, even if sometimes I let the stress get the better of me every now and then.
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