I bet you thought I was going to talk about Ingrid's tantrums, didn't you? But no, I'm the one having a meltdown. At the end of the week I am just so tired. Of everything. Of everyone. I'm tired of doing another load of laundry, I'm tired of unloading the goddamn dishwasher again. I'm tired of hearing Ingrid ask me to get her water bottle that is two feet away from her. I'm tired of Otis teething. I'm just tired.
So tonight I threw Otis' bottle across the room. It was in my hand, I felt mad, I threw it. And you know what? It felt kinda good. I totally get why Ingrid has these tantrums and hits things and screams. It feels good. Sometimes you don't wanna use your words.
I was going to write this post about how sick I am of being the only one that can ever do anything around here, but then Ingrid called out from her room "Mama? I'm sorry I yelled at you. I love you." And I realized that yes, it's a hard fucking job, but it's worth it. I get to see Otis' drooly smiles first thing in the morning, I get to give Ingrid kisses and hugs when she's groggy from her nap. I get to do these things now because that's what phase we are in, and some day it will all change and I won't get to do them. So I should quit complaining (and throwing things) and embrace the fact my children need and want me.