Kids, being sick on and off for three weeks, have me exhausted. Drained. Weak from hunger and dehydration as I neglect myself, and emotional.
I had all six this past weekend and was so happy to have them, but the sheer exhaustion and stress was almost too much for me.
I ended Sunday evening naked, screaming and crying in front of the bathroom mirror, while attempting to brush my hair out as days of neglect had tangled my two and a half foot long hair into a ratted mess that I was ripping through with my brush. In a fit of pure rage and a mad rush to get this OFF OF ME, I bundled a towel around me and ran into my bedroom. Snatching up the scissors, I dashed back to the bathroom, discarded the towel on the floor and flipped my hair over. Chopping through my hair ferociously, tears streaming upside down and into my hair line, I watched it fall to the tile floor.
A brief moment of fear and a thought, “what have I done?!” flitted through my mind. Then I took a breath, placed the scissors on the counter, and stood up straight. I glanced briefly into the mirror, then climbed into the tub of hot water and soaked and scrubbed and washed it all away.
Not until I got out and looked did a smile go across my face. No, it doesn’t look great, but the pure relief of that burden, both emotional and physical, finally lifting off and giving me a chance to BREATH…that was unforgettable.
And though we are still all sick (I with a fever and chills and a nasal infection) made into town. To work and to school. To daycare.
Holding on until three, when I can finally leave, is what I am just holding on to. The thought of a messy home, diapers to change, a meal to make, crying children, fever and chills and doing it all alone makes me shudder. But at least I will be home.