Thursday, August 25, 2016

34/52 & 35/52.

These last two weeks have been a haze of exhaustion and heat. Toddler years are just plain tough. Tough tough tough. While I am glad Genevieve is walking (her knees were becoming a daily reminder of just how dirty our floors can get), she wants nothing more than to keep up with the big kids. In the last seven days she has endured a bloody nose, two solid knocks to her head (one of which resulted in a nice purple goose egg), and--icing on the cake here--lost her thumbnail in a door jam accident. That last injury has injured me, too. Yes, I know accidents happen, and yes, the nail will grow back; but for the first time in my life as a mother, I'm considering confining ourselves to rooms with padded walls and bubble wrapping. And that's not like me. It's not the type of parent I am. But I feel terrible for Genevieve. She is in pain and is not sleeping ... or, sleeping even less, rather. "Boo boo" is now part of her limited lexicon, and BandAid changes have become as regular as diaper changes. In short, what were already long, difficult days have become harder. Because there are still fights over bedtimes, meals in shifts, naps cut short, quiet time skipped, negotiations over everything. It's the end of a hot, hot summer spent with two demanding girls that have two very different sets of demands, and I'm tired. I don't want to wish a minute away, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking for a bit of respite.

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