Tired is the New Black

I remember when a tilt of my head accompanied by a smile would garner a discount or special treatment. Now I’m lucky if the kids are silent for a mere second while the vendor contemplates my request.

Perhaps having two young children 1 and 2 conjures sympathy for me, hence a discount, or disgust – get this woman and her kids out of my store so I can appeal to a hipper audience whose children won’t pull things off my shelves.

Who knows. But with two munchkins and a hefty amount of stress on my shoulders I do not have the freedom to examine each encounter. Besides, I’m tired.

I’m tired in the morning when my husband’s alarm goes off. And fifteen minutes after I nudge him to turn it off when he finally awakes, I’m still tired. Some days I drag myself through the motions wondering how much coffee is too much. Living in Manhattan a healthy walk from any subway I debate taking my kids on excursions. I’m just tired. And by the time I give the kids their bath, I’m flat out exhausted. I’ve resigned myself to being tired and in fact have budgeted for this exhaustion for the next ten to fifteen years.

If I was not tired would that mean that I should be undertaking more responsibilities? Or working harder? I’m trying to remember the last time I sat down with my daughter just to watch an episode of Dora. When we color I multitask and try to return phone calls. Maybe when both kids are in school I can finally find that zen balance. By then there may be another child in the mix.

Who knows.

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