Crying it out

It's a good thing Saturday morning was so good. Because by Sunday night I had had it. Between getting sick, feeling like a failure because I had to have another IV (it was my goal to avoid it the rest of my pregnancy) the house was a mess and then Andrew spilled an entire giant bowl of Cheerios and milk all over my new dress. That triggered something in me and I lost it. 

I cried and cried. I cried because I'm tired. I cried because I hurt. I cried because I'm sick and overwhelmed and I just can't keep up. I cried because I hate being a working mom. I cried because I need a break. Tyler was on call for work so he wasn't home to witness my  breakdown. But Andrew saw the whole thing. And that made me feel even worse. I buried my face in my hands and just let it all out. 

Then I felt Andrew's tiny, chubby arms around my head. He rested his head on my shoulder and patted my back and softly started to sing in his baby talk. It's exactly what I do when he cries. And that made me smile. 

I pulled myself together and finished our routine: feeding, bath, story, songs and bed. By the time it was all done the only thing that made me want to cry was the fact I have to leave that perfect little boy in the morning so I can go count pieces of paper a million and one times, smile brightly at mean customers and hope and pray I don't throw up in the lobby.  

I am going to need my bright red lipstick and a good scripture before I take on this long week ahead.