At lunch yesterday, over PB&J, I spent two solid minutes mooing with my one year old. She moos very fervently, with a guttural, punching beginning sound going into a sustained, airy "oooooooo" at the end.
I've had my share of struggles with motherhood. There are many days where I just want to get away from these adorable little crazies. Days where I had two children under age two, and envied my husband, though he was going to a job that he hated, just because he got to get out of the house. Days where I would finally see an adult face and I would jabber incessantly, horrified with myself but feeling unable to stop talking simply because I was so deprived of adult interaction.
I had postpartum depression after Cim was born, and over the last year and a half I've battled through several rounds of depression brought on largely by my husband's stressful and abusive work situation which, among other things, caused him to be gone for 14-16 hours a day for most of the last two years, and to be very mentally and emotionally run down. On top of that, I have a daughter who is just now starting to ALMOST sleep through the night at 15 months old, and lack of sleep wears me down faster than anything else.
But as I sit here now, with Cim purposefully dribbling grape juice down her shirt and Mari waving crayons and squawking like a pterodactyl; as I marched in circles around the driveway yesterday singing "The Ants Go Marching" and "Found a Peanut" with Cim; I realize I not only know this is where I'm supposed to be, I'm happy with it.
(And I decided I'd better write about it so that the next time I'm struggling I can read this and remember, haha.)