Tired mom working

Last night I had one of those nights I just want to erase … or, at least, forget.

I’m tired. I need some alone time.

Emma destroyed the living room I had picked up less than 24 hours prior … the bulk of those hours since I had cleaned were spent sleeping and working/playing at daycare. She is amazing!

All 25ish pounds of her tore through that room with so much force that no one would have guessed I had taken time to put away her toys or fold two loads of laundry. She pulled every single piece of clothing I had folded off the couch … that’s what I get for not putting them away, right?

This all happened when I was making dinner. Where was her dad/my husband? At the chiropractor … so, really, I couldn’t even be mad at him. It would have made me feel better if I could have blamed him or something. I know that’s awful, but it’s true.

But once he got home, he ate dinner and then went out to the garage to work on his new four-wheeler. Now I could realistically be ticked. Oh well. Emma seemed tired, so I thought we would read a few books and then cuddle/rock until she fell asleep.

Wrong.

She brought me every single book she could find. We read around 20 books, and she was still wide awake. I was ready for bed at 8 p.m. She looked like she could go all night.

When Denny finally came in, I surrendered. I told him I was going to bed.

Dirty dishes from dinner in the sink? Check.
Trashed living room? Check.
A mama who cares? Negative.

What has gotten into me? I feel incredibly exhausted, crampy, on edge. I am trying to remember if this is what it felt like early in my pregnancy with Emma. I’m not officially late, but I should know more by Friday.

Until then, this working mama is going to find some more caffeine and try to purchase some patience to get me through!