Recently, I haven’t been acting like myself, and I know you haven’t been acting like yourself. We’re tired. Exhausted. Strained. We’re happy, but we’re being pushed to our limits constantly.You have the weight of supporting a family of four on your shoulders now. You’re stressed. Worried. You come home and there are baths to give and babies to put to sleep. You’re woken up early by an alarm clock if you’re lucky, but usually earlier by a baby that won’t let his mommy sleep.
I’m home all day with two young children. I’m running on little sleep. My body doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore. I watch the hours go by so slowly, while at the same time feel like I don’t have enough time to get anything done. I feel like a failure as a mother and a woman so many days. Why can’t I handle two kids and have dinner on the table when you get home? I worry that you might wonder the same thing.
I’m sorry for all the times I argue with you. I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you. For yelling and accusing. For assuming the worst in you.
In reality, I’m so thankful for you. For waking up early with the baby. For playing with our children every day. For helping me. For always respecting and supporting my parenting choices. For bending over backwards to give the world to your family.
I know I never mention this to you, but I often fall asleep thinking about the lingering hugs we steal in the hallway. Those hugs, when you pull me in tighter and hold on as if you’ve missed me, tell me that you’re still in love with me. You still want me. We’re still us even amidst this new sweet and chaotic phase of life.
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