He is two, I keep reminding myself as I cancel lunch plans to accomodate the crazies.
Days when I haven't had enough coffee. Days when I stick him in his bed and attempt to ignore the insanity & pray he falls asleep. Days when I know that only a nap will help.
He is two, I remind myself as I walk out of the room, take a deep breath and try to bring my blood pressure down.
Days when he is so overwhelmed with emotion & mental exhaustion that he doesn't know how to not jump and thump and scream. Days when my husband is out of town and I don't have a break at lunch or 5:00... or at all.
He is two, I murmur to myself while making a second cup of coffee and doubt if I am made for this.
And then, there is blissful silence and I know he's getting the rest he needs. I know in my head that when he wakes up he will be a different child, he will find me and snuggle me and be my sweet boy. It doesn't take the sting away of knowing that I yelled at him when I should have remained calm. Now though, I have a moment to myself, to regroup. To sit and hear nothing but the traffic whizzing by. People going home for lunch, going back to work. And I remember how lucky I am that I get the privelege of watching him grow before my very eyes.