I feel if awards for the worst mother were being given out I would take first place. I hate saying this and no, I'm not beating or starving Max. I just feel like I've not been the most attentive mother. I've been so tired lately and I'm not sleeping well at all. If he would lay in bed with me and watch cartoons all day I'd probably let him. I know, it's awful. The other night I worked until 1am, got home around 1:30 and by 5am I probably slept a total of 1 hour. I finally decided to call my doctor's office again and plead my case. My doc wasn't in but another doc sent in a script for a sleeping aid. I'm hoping and praying this is be the answer.
So yesterday, in an attempt to redeem myself, Max and I headed to the beach. We had an awesome time. He had so much fun and was his sweet little self. We both got a little sun and some fun! Today we went to a friends pool. The weather wasn't as nice as yesterday but it was still nice to hang out. For me, and I think for Max too, sometimes a change of pace is all we need. I'm coming to the realization that sometimes the housework will just have to wait or that I'll have to tackle a little bit of it each day instead of trying for one massive cleaning. I get the most satisfaction from that but now I just get sob.
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Here's a poem written by a grandmother. I cut it out of a newspaper:
TO MY GROWN-UP SON
My hands were busy through the day.
I didn't have much time to play
The little games you asked me to
I didn't have much time for you.
I'd wash your clothes, I'd sew and cook.
But when you'd bring your picture book and ask me please to share your fun,
I'd say, "A little later son."
I'd tuck you in all safe at night,
And hear your prayers, turn out the light.
Then tiptoe softly to the door,
I wish I'd stayed a minute more.
For life is short, and years rush past.
A little boy grows up so fast,
No longer is he at your side,
His precious secrets to confide,
The picture books are put away,
There are no children's games to play.
No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear.
That all belongs to yesteryear.
My hands once busy, now lie still,
The days are long and hard to fill,
I wish I might go back and do,
The little things you asked me to.
Alice E. Chase
p.s. Makes me cry every time I read it :-(
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