I’m tired. Like really, really tired. I don’t wear make-up often. Some days there’s not enough concealer in the world that could hide the bags beneath my eyes, and I just wish they’d disappear.
Other days I could care less who sees them and wear there as badges of honor; out on display that I’ve survived a dozen years of sleep deprivation, and yet here I still stand.
Going through the motions
I’m going through the motions of motherhood most days. You know what I mean? Like when you drive somewhere and when you go to get out of your vehicle you have absolutely no clue how you arrived there safely? You don’t recall any awareness or turns or avenues of reaching your destination?
That’s like motherhood for me on most days. I’m on autopilot, and I guess that’s a good and bad thing? Good thing I just know what to do. I swear as mothers we could do everything blindfolded with one arm tied behind our back. Bad thing that I don’t like feeling numb to a lot of it. Or I simply want to feel something else other than “off I go to the next duty of mine” greeted with a huff or sigh.
The photo above was right before the baby threw my phone, threw a fit, then accidentally dumped chocolate milk all over himself. The hours before this photo were helping one kid after the other with their school, while like I used to have at my teacher’s desk, there was a line waiting for me. As soon as I got done with one child, there’s others waiting and needing me “right now”. I also have to rotate running between dishes and laundry and snacks and meals and work emails to try to get back in time without setting one kid too far behind.
I’m tired. Like really, really tired.
I just need to be heard
To write this and have it read by others somehow makes me feel better. It’s like I’m venting aloud and know I’ll be “heard” just by these words being written down somewhere. I know I’m not the only parent having these same drowning feelings of exhaustion. But as always, it’s the little things that help give me fuel.
Changing the baby into a clean, warm outfit where when I scoop him up, his body weight leaning into my chest almost give me a “thank you for that, Mommy”.
Finding Post It notes saying “I love you Mom” or “you’re the best teacher ever” even though I know I was the farthest thing from that.
The random texts I get from my oldest telling me how much she loves me and how appreciative she is for all I do.
My oldest son coming to give me a good morning or good night kiss no matter what type of mood he’s in.
The little things that fuel this tired body that lately have me wearing my badges of honor bags under my eyes proudly. If you find yourself in the same boat, don’t feel the need to always hide them or be ashamed of them, Sister. After all, we’ve earned them.