My arms are wrapped around my 4-year-old cuddling her to sleep. From my big toe and the ends of the hair on my head, I am so bone tired. The room is still and dark. The only interruption is the snoring from my two-year-old only a few feet away in her bed.
I don’t dare to close my eyes because I know I will fall asleep. One glance at the clock radio in the corner by the door reveals that I need to get going. There is so much to do before I can sleep.
Reality smacks me like a wind storm on a boat.
I miss my husband.
He is out-of-town for work. This should be the last night this week until he is home and in our bed.
I am in awe of how single parents survive. This month alone I have done it for six nights and it is draining. I do not have anyone to help me. I am so glad he will be home tomorrow.
Dreams of having a shower ALONE, and sitting still for five minutes seem almost attainable.
I awake with a start and am not surprised that I am still in my older daughter’s bed and an hour has passed.
I stumble downstairs and look at the messy kitchen.
I shrug my shoulders and tell myself tomorrow. My bed calls to me. Rest. Sleep. I will wake up in the morning and my partner in parenting will be home.