I'm giving up on sleep for the night. I've been up since 2:30 thanks to all 25 inches of cuteness finally asleep in her crib. My alarm was set to go off at 7:00, and although my body aches with exhaustion, I don't see the point in laying down for a mere thirty minutes. So I'm here, shivering in the living room, watching an infomercial for Wen hair product, eating leftovers, and praying for the strength to stay awake during church. I'm fighting the temptation to nap in the mother's lounge after Sacrament meeting.
As I sit here in my state of half-delirium I wonder why I'm even attempting to write. My attention span is that of a six year old boy and I think my eyes are twitching. But through all that exhaustion the song "Count Your Many Blessings" is ringing in my ears. . . almost against my will.
Yesterday morning I threw a mini temper tantrum. Andrea had kept me up since around two that night as well and I was not a happy camper. My kitchen was a mess, as was the rest of the house and I wanted a nap so desperately but couldn't because of a primary activity I had to attend. I was dreading Mother's Day because turning the primary over to the men of the ward was stressing me out. I'd been calling people for days trying to recruit enough volunteers so the sisters could have a break for just one hour on their special day and I still hadn't heard back from a handful of the brethren.
I was also bummed that Sunday was my anniversary. Due to finances, I was 99.999% sure Paul was getting me nothing for either of special days May 8th was to me this year. So I had a temper tantrum. I laid on the bed and cried and when Paul attempted to understand my charming swing in mood I told him it was just stress and that I'd get over it. Some days I feel so mature. . . Thankfully, my day was busy which kept my mind off of the list of things bothering me, and as I ran to and fro Paul took care of Andrea so I had one less thing to worry about.
In the evening I took Andrea to the store with me to give him a much needed break, and with his permission, I picked out a Mother's Day/anniversary gift to me from him. A hot glue gun. It was less than three dollars, and though it seemed completely unromantic, I wanted it. And I felt like I deserved it. Me being mature again.
When I got home Paul was cleaning that messy house I had neglected for a few days. I marveled at his kindness and wondered why I was so annoyed at him earlier. In the last week he has watched Andrea for countless hours so I could work on various things. He's held her while she threw up repeatedly from the flu, and he's changed at least a million diapers. He even got up with her in the night a couple times so I could try to sleep. He has given me a Mother's Week. And you know what? That means more to me that a bouquet of flowers or even a hot glue gun.