I hate it when I get like this. I'm tired and grumpy and short-tempered with the girls. It's only 11:30 in the morning with at least six hours more left before Kurt gets home and I'm desperately trying to think of something, anything, to keep them busy and stave off the cabin fever whining. At the exact same time, I'm completely disinterested in leaving the house or doing anything that doesn't involve a pillow and my bed. To say I'm torn doesn't quite cover it.
Silvia woke up at 2 A.M. last night and somehow ended up hogging our bed with her tiny little figure. She officially defied all the laws of physics with a simple horizontal stretch as Kurt and I balanced precariously on either side of the king-sized mattress. I've been fighting off a free-floating exhaustion for over a week now, struggling to keep my eyelids propped open most of the day (I'm about to resort to toothpicks). Add on top of that a miserable night and I'm. Not. Perky.
I don't want to be detached and snippy mommy. I don't want to stare longingly at the television, wrestling with the urge to drown the hours of the day in PBS Sprout. (I have so far managed to resist. Today.) I have good kids, and when I'm on my game they are better than good. They reflect my mood and behavior, though, so when I'm obnoxious, disconnected and lacking in volume control... so are they. Which helps tons with lifting my mood, don't ya know.
Now to try and convince my four-year-old to take a nap that she absolutely doesn't want and quite probably doesn't need. Am I in great form or what?