wrung out

Right around hour 2 of bedtime (curse you, daylight savings!), I was vacuuming the family room when someone got out of bed. Again. I had about had it. Actually, no. I had already had it. 

I had already given all my joy. I had already been the fun mom. I had already been the patient mom. I had already granted understanding and extended grace. And I had already lost my temper and threatened to “come up there one more time.” 

I was wrung out. 

In this life season, I reach the end of most days feeling wrung out. Like every little drop of energy, ability, and smiles have been twisted from my body. Motherhood does that. 

Please don’t mistake this as being ungrateful. Far from it. It’s just exhaustion. 

And I figure… I can’t be the only wrung out mama. So why be shy about it? Solidarity, sisters. 

So cheers! Have a glass of wine, read a good book, fold the laundry, and just wait till morning to unload the dishwasher. It’s more challenging to unload with a baby attempting to surf the dishwasher door, right? 

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