I've fallen into bed utterly exhausted every night this week.
I know it could be worse: I could be working in a factory, mining coal or any number of much harder things. I try to keep that in perspective. Not that it helps much.
I forgot how hard kids can be during that stretch from one to two. Now that the baby's learned to walk, he's into everything and satisfied with nothing. Every time I turn around he's climbing onto the coffee table, throwing himself at the screen door or toddling into the bathroom to stick his head in the toilet because someone's left the door open again. And my four-year-old, who has blossomed into such a clever and charming young thing, has to play by himself in the yard because I have to chase the baby into the garage, away from the road or out of the trash can.
I remember my first son being surprisingly pleasant at two. Maybe next year I'll get a reprieve from the chaos of infancy and the tantrums of toddlerhood.
Enough complaints, though. I have to, as my older son says, "do my thankfuls." So here goes:
- I'm thankful that both boys went to bed smelling of fresh-cut grass.
- I'm thankful that the lilacs and dogwoods are blooming.
- I'm thankful that we have a playdate with the neighbor at Tiny Town tomorrow morning.
- I'm thankful for the S-Town podcast.
- I'm thankful that I made this silly commitment to blog every day in 2017, because some days it's the only thing keeping me from feeling like I've completely given up on my dream.
- I'm thankful for sleep.