We've been without a dishwasher for a month now (cracked tub, soon to be resolved). I started back to grad school this semester with a professor that loves writing assignments. Goose is 2, almost 3, and completely acting her age most days. Baby Boy is going through a growth spurt and getting teeth. That means a ton of nursing. I was already struggling to keep up calorie-wise.
I'm frazzled and it shows. It shows in how I look, in how I sound. How I respond to Goose's 2-year-old demands. How I handle Baby Boy not falling asleep and fussing. How I
And then I look around. My beautiful children. My loving husband. My home. My opportunities. And I feel guilty, incredibly guilty, for complaining about my first world problems and this wonderful life that I have. And I feel weak. People do a lot more with a lot less. Every day.
And that makes me feel even worse.
And all of that just annoys the hell out of me.
----One task at a time. One day at a time. That's the best I can do.