I’ve been meaning to write this post for the past few days. Every time, something happens. And I no longer feel like writing it.
The first day I wanted to write it, I got irrationally mad at the Monkey and yelled at her, and ended up beating myself up over it for the rest of the night.
The second day, the Jellybean woke up and I had to attend to her needs.
The third day, M came home early and I wanted to play facebook scrabble with him.
Today, the Monkey has a horrible cold with a wracking cough and her nose doing a marathon around her face.
But the sentiment is still there.
This is love.
This is my first week trying to wrestle two kids at night without a husband, or other adult human, by my side. And while the first night had it’s speed bump, the rest of the nights were mostly successful. I will lay here with the Monkey on my left, passed out and wrapped in M’s blanket, and the Jellybean on my right, swaddled and in her bassinet. Or on my face. And I’ll think to myself, “Self: so this is love.”
And it calms me. And I’m happy.
Even when the Monkey wont sleep. Even when the Bean wants yet another ounce of formula. Even when I’m exhausted and just want to close my eyes for another 5 minutes.