As my children sit on the couch watching television, I can feel my heart slowing to a normal pace. I need to feel that I am not alone in this parenting business. But it scares me to think I will always be. It angers me that he is still laying, eyes closed, all snug, in our bed. Sure he was awake later than I, but only for his enjoyment.
The stress begins to wear me down, and I can feel it tugging at my chest. My mind all contorted and strangled. I really know the living definition of overwhelmed.
Cleaning messes is part of the game. But there is something about the consistency of one half doing all the work. No wonder she is always angry mouthed with no smiles or laughter. It has been drained. But she longs to have a constant smile stretched across her face. Breathing would be easier. Mind would feel clearer.
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