No rest for Mama

The mornings are the hardest.

I wake up feeling like I have a hangover, but I haven’t been drinking.

I can smell my husband’s coffee from down the hallway and it makes me want to barf.

I’m so tired from being up with my younger children. How on earth will I survive?

The thought of parenting right now makes me want to crawl into a ball, pull the sheets up over my head and hide there in darkness.

I try to momentarily, but sitting still isn’t what my body actually wants.

It wants the toilet. A cooler temperature. No noise. A warm shower. Butter on toast. A full course meal. Powerade. Everything. And nothing.

It doesn’t know what it wants.

I don’t know what I want.

But my little children do.

My toddler runs into my room and jumps on top of me. “Monkey on the bed, monkey on the bed” she chants.

I roll from side to side, with all the energy I can muster.

Then my baby cries for me.

It’s over, this little bit of rest that isn’t, before the day’s even begun.

I drag myself out of bed. Ask my toddler to wait. But end up carrying her to the baby room. And then carry them both to the kitchen, while carrying my yet to be born child.

I give myself a pep talk.

Sort them their breakfast.

Before going to the bathroom to feel sorry for myself for as long as they will allow.

I look in the mirror at my tiny bump. How can something so small cause me to feel so off?

I hear “mama”. So I splash my face with some cold water. And return to my duties.

Because despite feeling “off”, my children depend on me to continue being “on”.

Because there’s no rest for “mama”, even when she’s creating a human.