It’s quiet as I write this. The little one is still asleep, while the big ones are off to work and school. Outside, the faintest flurry of snow is drifting to the earth.
This is a moment I should cherish. It is why I have chosen to sit still and write, if only for a few minutes.
The truth is, though, I am too tired to appreciate it. This feeling is all too familiar, unfortunately. I am often tired. In the nearly four years since I had my son, I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t at least a little bit tired. Motherhood is exhausting.
Even in the good times, when things roll along pleasantly, the “always on”-ness of motherhood makes for very little true rest.
Lately we have been in a power struggle, my son and I. This dance has worn me out even more. I haven’t yet figured out the right approach, but I am trying. I am practicing patience and love soft-spoken. Some days I am better at it than others.
I know things will get better. I know in an hour or two I will feel a little more lively just as I know eventually my son and I will learn how to work together.
Right now, though, I am tired. And sometimes that is as far as my thought process goes.