It’s been one of those weeks – a week that would put my college days’ caffeine consumption to shame. Getting through each day with the help of one pop and fizz after another. It’s been an exhausting season.
Running across town to retrieve last minutes presents, convincing myself to get out of bed despite the gigantic lack of sleep I’m facing – I’m not sure how I’m able to function on such little sleep crossed with so much responsibility.
But, when I think about this being my first un-pregnant Christmas in two years, it still makes me a little sad.
We could only imagine last Christmas if we would have two little girls in matching dresses the next year, or a brother and sister sitting opposite on Santa’s lap.
Regardless of the comments my sleep deprived zombie self says about small children out of frustration, it really is all wonderful.
Upstairs an energized girl is waking up from her nap, and I’m hopeful for a pleasant afternoon with her – outside, playing where she is her happiest.
I anticipate their smiles and their giggles, and I dread the things that make them sad. I pride myself in being the one that knows them well enough to surprise them with belly laughs and snorts, and to avoid the things that snub them.
I’ve been struggling with feelings of inadequacy lately, and in some ways this is the only way I’m reminded that I’m enough. I’m enough to my children that look to me for encouragement, for safety, for the reassurance that their world is ok.