I'm not even sure what I'm so frustrated about, but I feel like if you were to give me a metal pole, I could bite it in half. An then throw it at you.
My sweet son is turning two next week, and we are having a party for him. Now, I am very laid back about birthday party's... Those Pinterest-y type moms carving their own decorations out of beach wood and ordering penguins to swim in their pools for the occasion is just so NOT me. A happy birthday banner, some balloons, and a cake will be just fine for me kids, thanks. Yet I'm still stressing, because we have family flying in, a house full of people coming over, and lots to do before the party. I have a list of like 12 essential things that must get done, and I think we've crossed off two of them. Perhaps I should cross off "clean off front door and put up a fall wreath" from the list, considering just getting rid of my massive laundry pile alone is going to take a miracle. I feel I've had a productive day if I manage to brush my teeth and put on a clean pair of yoga pants.
(If you're confused about why I need to "clean" my front door, you obviously don't know where I live. But that's a story for a different day. Suffice it to say, it needs cleaning)
Anyway, I'm stressed. I want to have things a bit more "together" than I do.
Luke doesn't nap longer than 45 at a time. He still wakes up at night, too. I often feel like I finish taking care of one of their needs, and the other one starts up.
I'm feeling a bit drained.
At the end of the day, I know I'm lucky. I have a husband who loves me and two healthy kids. I have everything I need and most things I want. I am really not complaining. That would be whiney and childish and greedy. Which I'm not. At all. Ever.
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