Yesterday was one of those days where, when my kids were asleep, I wasn’t in active Mommy-mode and it was finally over, I curled up on the couch and had to fight back tears. It was a day that left me spent, feeling stretched too thin and exhausted at the thought of having to get up and do it all again today.
The kicker? For half of the day, I only had one kid – my mother-in-law picked Julia up after lunch and they spent the afternoon together. I was excited about having just Oliver to deal with, because it should be easier when the workload is cut in half, right?
I love Oliver with the intensity of a thousand burning suns, a love that I never thought I’d be able to have for my second child. I love his curious nature, the mischievous glint in his eyes and the determination that courses through his veins.
I love how affectionate he is – how he toddles to me from across the room, a fine stream of drool swinging from his chin, to collapse in my arms and bury his head in my neck.
I get lost in the quiet moments we spend together in the rocking chair, where he rests his head in the crook of my arm and I gently stroke his smooth, chubby legs and kiss his forehead.
So it’s been established that I love him, of which there was little doubt. But my god, the boy is exhausting. Just. Bloody. Exhausting.
He’s demanding in ways Julia never was, which has been difficult to adjust to. Just when I think I’ve got him going on a good schedule he turns everything upside down, leaving me scrambling and feeling a bit defeated. This, sometimes, makes me feel so stupid.
He needs more of me – physically, emotionally, mentally – and there are days when, like yesterday, I give him everything I’ve got and he still needs more, wants more, screams for more. Sometimes my all just isn’t good enough and by the end of the day that leaves me feeling wiped the f… right out.
It makes me wonder if I have enough to give to a third child, which up until now I’ve always wanted and thought I could handle. I keep telling myself that the first year with Oliver was bound to be hard, with him and Julia being so close in age.
I tell myself that it will get easier as they get older and become more independent. But sometimes, in the back of my mind, I seriously question if I could manage another child. And after days like yesterday, where I’m down one kid and still want to hop the first available flight to Tijuana, I really have my doubts.
I tell him on a regular basis it’s a good thing he’s so cute.