As I sit here, huddled over my laptop in pain, heating pad attempting to alleviate my stomach ache, I sip a cup of tea and bury my tired head in my hand. Between the baby being sick, the sickeningly jam-packed soccer schedule we’ve been keeping, no sleep in over a week, and being smothered by the unspent energy my children have after it raining for over three weeks straight, I feel exhausted. Misused. Distressed.
I feel my body giving out under me, like the weight of the day has worn me. I feel scraped, naked, exposed and crumbling.
Sipping my tea while trying to embrace some calm with the kids tucked away for the night, my stomach rumbles with discomfort as I hear the baby snore beside me on the couch. I turn slightly on my side, uncomfortably, repositioning the laptop to continue to write, struggling to feel any semblance of comfort. Even when I get the chance to relax, I can’t relax. My body is betraying me. My insides are cursing me. My eyes and will are heavy.
I need my son to get better. And some sleep. A break. Rest.
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