The middle of the second week of the year, and I’m on overdrive again. Work, writing, kids, cleaning, laundry

arghhhhhhg!

Today was one of those days where I got so tired, my eyes showed me visions of sleep undulate before my eyes.

A day where there just wasn’t enough coffee.

Somehow, my list of stuff to do keeps multiplying, and even more incomprehensibly, I’m somehow getting it done.

As I swept up LEGO and dirt- dirt, food, dirt, sword, dirt, dirt, head-

It struck me.

My baby turns three tomorrow.

I will never have a two year old again. My youngest has sprouted up so fast I sometimes wonder if I was even awake for it.

They say these years go so fast, and I guess it’s true, they really do.

But at the same time, each moment drags with all the fatigue and the weight that life can place on you when you have small ones who need so much of your time.

It’s bittersweet, watching them become more independent. More verbal. More capable in every way.

Some day soon, they won’t need me to wash them or feed them or do anything except be their mom.

Part of me longs for that day, dreaming of the uninterrupted sleep, the time to do whatever I want to do.

But today as I pause in the daily race to accomplish the daily chores, I feel a tug on my heart.

He’s driving me crazy. He’s not sleeping worth a damn. But he’s such a good snuggler. He preemptively says he loves you when he’s in trouble. He’s so funny, and heaven help us all, he has paw patrol on a repeating loop of hell.

And he’s three tomorrow. My baby is a little boy.

For now, anyway.