Friday, April 26, 2013

Worn Out

By the end of most days, I’m done. I’m tired, I’m cranky, I’m ready for the day to be over and the sleepy time to begin.

Thursdays can be the roughest because A and O and I don’t even walk in the door until 8pm. I leave each morning at 7:26am and so that makes for one long damned day.

Last night after both girls were asleep, I wandered into the living room and Tom said offhandedly, “Olivia wears you out, doesn’t she?”

And that comment right there? It made me feel like shit. For a minute.

Then I got over it because yes, by the end of the night, when I’ve scratched every single part of her except her butt, which I refuse to scratch no matter how many times she offers me the opportunity, I’m worn out.

Do you know how annoying it can be to be sitting there, scratching a back that’s been scratched for twenty minutes and then have the owner of that back look at you with a raised eyebrow and say, “What about legs?”

Then she yanks up the legs of her pajamas to offer her legs for a twenty minute scratching. After that’s done, and you’re about to fall over from sheer exhaustion she offered her arm and her hand, the fingers splayed, so you can scratch each and every digit. Her eyes are getting heavy, though, so you scratch, thinking it can’t be much longer.

Except it is. It is much longer. She rolls over and offers you the other hand. Then she wiggles into a new position so you can scratch her shoulder.

At this point, you’ve been scratching for almost an hour. It’s time for her to be asleep.

And when you tell her so, in a slightly less than gentle tone, that is the moment your husband happened to enter the room.

So yeah, she wears me out. Of course, to be fair to the girl, it’s not just her. I was worn out before I sat down to scratch but the scratching is the icing on the worn out cake.

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