It’s a little late.
I’ve got a three year old and how she is still alive is a wonder to me only answerable by Jesus.
I get distracted easily.
I need copious amounts of alone time.
I hate throw-up.
When I’m sleep-deprived, I cry and try to microwave inanimate objects, searching for my coffee mug.
My bank account is continually adorned with that maddeningly red exclamation point. As if, by some chance, I was unaware that we had -134.45 dollars. As if.
I hate playing games of all kinds- board games, outdoor games- I even tried to find excuses to dodge the Easter Egg Hunt.
It seems, I hate all things fun.
I’m not ready to tackle these growing up years.
I thought infancy was rough.
Now we have to content with matters of the heart.
We’re up against a lot, as parents.
It’s enough to drive you to your knees.
Or to the bottle.
In rapid succession.
I’m not ready.
Thank God I don’t have to do it alone.