I. may. be. getting. old.
Due to some serious grievous irresponsibility, my granddaughter is living with us Monday through Friday and going home to her Mom and Dad on the weekends. We won't get into the "who, what, when, where, and why's." That really is not my story to tell, so I won't.
I'm sure you've seen me post many pictures of said grandchild. She is beautiful and I love her. Her presence is extraordinary.
So this post is not about her. It's about me.
My son is 15. He is very independent. He doesn't like me all over him 24 hours a day. He and I are both sort of loners, we love our independent space. We sort of have a serendipitous ballet we do. We have a smooth and comfortable routine that we have perfected over the years.
That routine does not include mountains of diapers. That routine does not include tiny little bottles. That routine does not include a big heavy car seat. That routine does not include interrupted sleep.
Now. it. does.
This was week one. I appear to be alive. So I guess that technically means that I have survived. But I have not left the house. Next week I have several errands to run. I'm not sure exactly how long this arrangement will last, but several weeks are definitely in my immediate future.
Do all of you Moms of small children spend every living moment of your life in a state of sheer exhaustion? Is there a pill I can take for that?
I would appreciate everyone saying a little prayer for both me and our brand new precious bundle of joy. I think we'll both be needing it.
Until next time . . .