It’s 9am and it already feels like half the day has gone by.
I’ve dropped Lilly off at preschool and usually around this time I’m rushing back home to catch up on housework, or running errands, or going off to lend my husband a hand with our business. Today though, I’ve decided to do something different.
I’ve realized recently that I’m always tired, always exhausted, and I never have time to do anything for myself. Being in the last trimester of my second pregnancy isn’t exactly helping with the whole exhaustion thing, but it’s more than that. I need a break, and I’ve realized that with a baby coming soon, This is probably the only time I’ll get to take that break.
So currently, I’m sitting at Panera Bread with a freshly brewed hot chocolate and a brand new book and this is where I’ll stay till it’s time to pick Lilly up from preschool.
The laundry can wait.
When I was younger, I always said I wanted a large family, with at least 6 kids. Needless to say everyone either thought I was crazy or that I’d come to my senses after I actually went through the process of having a baby.
As I matured, I decided maybe 6 kids really were too many to handle and I needed to lower the number of members in my imaginary family. So I decided 4 was a much more reasonable number and congratulated myself on being so sensible.
When I got married and had my first child at the age of 28, I finally understood why everyone kept telling me that having babies (and raising babies) wasn’t exactly easy. So I reevaluated my life plan a little and conceded that maybe aiming for 3 kids was a much more realistic goal.
Fast forward to today: as I sit here at 1:36am, massaging my aching back and trying to will away my pregnancy insomnia, I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, 2 really is the perfect number after all.