I feel so used up by the end of each day. I have no more patience, no more energy, no more brain power. My body has been a playground all day, pulled on, poked, scratched, pushed against, fed on. My skin is sore from constant touches, but so is my soul, my emotional capacity, even my aura feels totally and completely touched out. Overstimulated, overwhelmed, overworked, over everything. The noise has been too loud, too constant, too worrying. Who hit who? What show can we all agree on? Is that the baby in the bedroom, waking up from a nap? Let's play the song one more time and then be done. Is there any chance anyone wants to go outside and be loud out there so mommy can have five minutes of silence? My brain is full of lists, groceries that need to be purchased, chores that need to be done. We just had a four day weekend, did he really not get to the lawn? When is the package with summer clothes arriving? Do we already need more diapers? I really need to go through everyone's drawers and pull out the things that don't fit... I'm always playing catch up. I'm so tired. I'm so drained. I'm so empty.
But also full. I am full of love. I'm full of kisses, and answers to questions, and songs. I'm full to overflowing for these tiny amazing crazy-makers. I have time for one more book, one more song, one more kiss, one more prayer over the heads of my sleepy-eyed babies. I could get up one more time for one more last minute need. Because there always is. One more request for water. One more precious snuggle. One more question about the mysteries of the universe.
And when the new baby, baby number three, daughter number two, my sweet and precious angel, needs to be snuggled and fed at some ungodly hour of the night, I will have more milk, more snuggles, I will lean in to smell that little head, even though I've sniffed it a thousand times today. And when the older two come in at the crack of dawn, while my husband gets up to get ready for his day at work, I will have arms enough for all three of them, one more hour of sleepy snuggles until they begin their day of making requests and demands.
I will survive this part of life. And I know I will look back on it with fondness and longing and exhaustion and gratitude. I will mourn the loss of the littlest phase, missing the babies and toddlers who have sprouted to children and teens and adults. There will never be enough. And yet it is exactly enough. And too much. The universe is packed into a marble. And I keep finding it in the pockets of my kids' clothing before processing a thousand loads of laundry.
