“But then I don’t get her feet or legs!” shouted my four-year-old to my eight-year-old. I had been reduced to body parts by my children. Pieces of myself for my kids to fight over.
Entering our seventh week of summer, I’ve hit the wall. The summer wall. You know how when you are running a marathon, and around mile 21 or so you hit a wall of fatigue (or so I'm told) and you feel like you cannot run one more step?
But I’ve started noticing something about these appointments. None of them are for me. It is almost as if I’ve forgotten that I’m important too. Because here’s the thing—when you have small kids, you sometimes forget to take the time to see your own needs. It’s not a conscious decision; the days are just so full and unpredictable.
Fake it til you make it. This is a biggie. When I’m super exhausted and want to crawl back into bed, I put on real, presentable clothes instead of yoga pants and a t-shirt. Because let's face it, napping when they nap isn't really going to happen. So instead, I put together my best self to tackle the longest of days.
I've made a long list of resolutions this year. I know a lot of people say resolutions are doomed to fail, but I like the idea of looking at the new year as a clean slate, with endless possibilities for good habits and new adventures. It's like giving yourself permission to start over.