When Tiredness Overwhelms Me

I've had a bout of fatigue last weekend. Physical. Emotional. Intellectual. I was tired. Tired of doing laundry. Tired of cooking. Tired of cleaning out the bathrooms. Tired of being by myself. Tired of brain cell death.

I bawled my eyes out to my hubby. I complained. I whined. Then I slept by myself in the extra room. Fitfully, then restfully.

Sweet hubby left me alone to recover. Then gave me a vacation of a weekend. He cooked. Cleaned. Took over completely. I vegged out. I did the minimum that I could. Deliberately. I was on STRIKE.

Until Monday.

Monday was a transition day. It was a day to get my groove back. This is my job. But I get tired of it occasionally. Like career women, I too need a vacation. We're all taking one, soon.

It's a high-stress, highly-demanding career, being a stay-at-home parent. Did I know it was going to be like this? No. I thought I'd sail along, fit the shoes perfectly, and never feel grouchy about all the things I left behind.

Do I regret it? No. It's tiring, frustrating, downright irritating at times. But it's a job that fills my heart with warmth and joy like no other can. That's it. That's my reward. Hours of fun, of playing peek-a-boo, of hiding and watching while a little person goes around calling "Mommy? Where? Where?", of getting a huge smile and a diving hug when I come out of hiding. Laughter. Hugs. Spontaneous kisses. Thank you's for spoonfuls of pudding.

It's a roller-coaster ride. I'd get on it all over again.