a moment of silence

 {look at those tired eyes}

The daily moment of silence ritual once celebrated in schools used to make me so uncomfortable. Awkwardly I would avert my eyes in every which way to avoid eye contact with other fidgety souls and would usually find solitude only when I rested my head on the desk. I never knew what or whom I was supposed to be thinking about and found the time wasteful. Now I long for that moment of silence. It rarely happens but is happening right now. 

These past three/four weeks have probably been the hardest weeks of my year. 2012 was going swimmingly until our life began to shift and boxes filled the spaces our furniture used to be. Moving is hard. I'd love to elaborate but really, what else can I say? It just is. It has been especially difficult this year because I am packing around an extra 20 pounds of baby girl on my front. Bending and lifting has taken my breath away when it normally wouldn't phase me. To add to the 20 pounds, I usually carry all 26 pounds of V on my left side and on occasion all 31 pounds of Mya on my right. I truly am a sight for sore eyes. Both girls have been relentless during the past three weeks needing my attention more than normal, and while I normally oblige willingly...I have found myself cringing lately. My back aches so much these days that doing everything I am required to do has become frustrating, but I constantly remind myself that it's all part of being a mom.

I wanted to jot down some of my feelings only because I have no where else to really do so and finally found a quiet moment to really express the things bouncing around this half-dead brain of mine. I don't mean to overlook all the good that has occurred during the past few weeks, but I'll admit that it's been hard for me to recognize the silver lining. The move has really destroyed the daily patterns and routines I had set for my peanuts, and I find myself at square one trying to get back to where we were, if that is possible.

Last night I rocked V to sleep off and on for four long and sweaty hours. Our a/c wasn't working and both she and I struggled to find peace as sweat dripped from our foreheads. I cracked at two hours and placed her in her crib fully awake and angry. She looked at me; I looked at her. It was the most intense staring contest I've ever been involved in. I growled at her; she screamed at me. The war broke both sides. We both cried--she in her crib and I on the squeaky hard wood floor.  At one point I just looked up and shook my head and silently muttered, "What do you want me to learn from this? I am so tired. My back aches so much. We are both so hot. Is there no relief?" Thirty minutes of relief came two hours later when both V and I passed out on Mya's bed. Mya had a nightmare soon after and woke both of us. It took two more hours to get V back to sleep.

I don't know what I am to learn from these rather frequent experiences. Patience, I suppose. Four hours of shrieking patience. When the girls woke up at 5:15, I just laughed. I haven't slept more than three good hours a night in weeks. Between the girls' tears and screams, the constant heartburn and the painful charlie horses I am graced with, I cannot seem to find good sleep. It has been an exhausting time. One I hope to forget or we may never have more children.

Because I don't want this post to be totally negative, I do want to jot down how grateful I am that angels are sustaining me throughout the day. My lack of sleep have caused my emotions to escalate to a new high so I find it a sheer miracle that I can enjoy my girls everyday. Just today we've run through the sprinklers, danced to Disney music, worked on our writing skills and played house. All on three hours of sleep.

I cannot end the post without noting that Tim has really been great during the past few weeks always trying to pick up the pieces I seem to break. He has been crazy busy with work but still manages to make us his first priority. Someday I hope to become the type of spouse and parent he already is.