Having a baby is no joke. Having a toddler is no joke. And I'm sure having a fully developed walking talking child/tween/teen/adult is no joke either. Lord help me when this toddler is a larger child. I imagine he'll be jumping off the tallest thing he can find, seeing as how he's already managed to teach himself to climb on the coffee table and living room furniture when I'm not looking.
I'd been having a couple of those days back to back ... I think it had to do with hubs being out of town a little too often, toddler sleep regression which equals zero sleep for this lady, some personal anguish about some big girl decisions that I need to make, too many traumatic toddler tantrums of wanting to pull out every single ziploc bag and scatter Maggie's food all over the kitchen (the picture below was taken after I found the madness, cleaned it up and closed the pantry doors ... he wasn't happy I wouldn't allow him to keep doing it) and just general frustrations with work while wrangling a toddler at home. It all came to a head recently and I was nearly at my breaking point when I landed on a poem: The Last Time.
He's small. He needs me. He WANTS to be with me. And I am beyond privileged enough to be able to spend these days with him. So, I took a mental note to myself: breathe mama, breathe. These moments are fleeting. Let him be your baby and cherish it. There is time for work, there are things that need to be done, but let him be little and be with him. Be present. This is my job now, and when you're able: do it 100% - just the way you would anything you sign your name to. For now he is your greatest work, a work in progress. Make it count ... until The Last Time.