this is your wake-up call.

4:44.

This is not the time you want to see on the clock when your toddler refuses to go back to sleep and your husband is slipping out the door for a weekend seminar.

#&^*!@^%^$#$$

Let’s just add a cherry on top of that sundae and throw in starting my period.

Awesome.

It was an ugly scene in my mind for the first ten minutes of my day. Not exactly how I enjoy waking up to the world. Or my family.

But, I take a breath and give myself grace.

I can start over.

So I sit down with my son, crossed legged on his white shag rug (which, for the record, was a horrible mistake…I mean, seriously, why did I ever think a white shag rugΒ that you can’t even properly vacuum would be a great idea for a toddler?). We quietly create a story, one piece of wooden train track at a time. I breathe into the moment and really look at his face, so happy to be awake at 5 am. Bless his crazy little heart.

Some days parenting can be a shock to the system. Some days it can feel like I was woken up with a punch to the face. And the more that I resist it, the more it hurts.

While I admittedly threw a grown-ass hissy fit this morning, feeling all the feels for myself…I also get to start over whenever I choose. So, I whisper prayers for strength and sip my coffee (busting out the big guns today: caffeine). I pull up my big girl pants and fake this adulting thing until the caffeine kicks in. We look at a never-ending montage of tarantulas on my {3 months now} busted iphone. Hakuna Matata streams through the speakers.

We get through it.

One minute at a time.

 

 

 

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