There are days when I feel like I can’t go on.
Those are the days I have been up more times in the night than I can remember. I’ve cleaned up too many toys, washed too many dishes. I wait, again, for my distracted son to get his shoes on/get dressed/put away his dishes/follow instructions. I already took lunch to my loveable but forgetful husband this week. My 3 month old has had two blow out diapers today and I have been spit up on at least three times.
I’m out of nice. I’m out of patience. I’m just out of everything.
Nothing more to give.
But then my littlest one smiles and coos at during our 3 AM feeding, our sacred, quiet time together.
I see a facebook message about an aquaintance’s son in the hospital... And my own son runs to me and clutches my leg and begs me for the millionth and a half time that day to “please color with me.”
My husband and I catch eyes across the room.
And I find it. The love that comes from above springs up within me.
I pick up my baby and set her chubby self on my lap. I grab a crayon with the other one and lean in to my boy over the table decorated with papers waiting to be decorated.
