Every day I make it because tomorrow will be better. Because next week will be better. Next month. Next year. But it's never better. It's an unending struggle to clean up the mess I've made. An incessent search for the right fix.
And so Alex's fear of animals hiding in his curtains and Mya's need to poop anywhere except in a diaper will force me to carry on. What other option do any of us have anyway? People call it strength...What choice is there? There are babies here who need love and ravioli and tickles and "pankin's." A house that needs more attention than a toddler. A degree that won't earn itself (and seriously, with what I'm paying for it, it SHOULD).
On a side note, I love that Alex is not ashamed of his love for me yet. We were at Sertoma Park/Japanese Gardens for Mother's day and he scraped his ankle on the playground. There were several beautiful little Hispanic girls playing around him and a couple boys who were fivish, and he fell to the ground sobbing for me. I ran to him and tried to comfort him and he begged in front of everyone, "Please kiss it. KISS IT!"
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