Brianna got home around 12:30am Tuesday morning. And since she does not understand the concept of either sleeping in or spending a leisurely morning staring at the ceiling, I got to drag my stretch-marked butt out of bed at 6am. She, of course, has no problem with this since she takes three naps a day and goes to bed a 7pm. I, on the other hand, feel like my head is collapsing in on itself and that I left my brain at 35,000 feet somewhere over Pennsylvania.
I’ve been dying to get to my blog for days. I have books to talk about. But my creative urge has temporarily left me. Perhaps it’s a combination of believing my daughter had stopped breathing, accidentally letting her roll off the bed (I say accidentally as if it’s something I’d let her do freely and without thought) and then letting her burn her hand in my crab dip this evening (I should know she lunges for anything within reach). I think I’m just plain wore out. I’ve hit one of those walls and need to break through it.
Of course, my lack of energy also translates into a huge lack of motivation for cleaning, packing, and other things that need to be done around this house. I suck so bad at this stay-at-home-mom thing. I think I’ll just go bury my head in a book.