Life with a newborn and pre-schooler is exhausting. They both have different, yet equally demanding needs, and it’s a constant balancing act to make sure I’m giving each what they need.
That said, I finally reached a point in my life where I’m physically feeling older. I’m 32, have two kids, one of which I’m still recovering from, I am nowhere near my ideal physical fitness level, and am completely sleep deprived. So my body aches like I’ve run back-to-back marathons (not that I’ve EVER done that).
The other night we were all (two dogs included) winding down in the new baby’s room for the night and I slowly lowered myself to my hands and knees to stretch out on the floor, all the while groaning from the aches of my back and legs, and uttering, “I’m so old.”
And bless my inquisitive, kind-soul two-year old, “What happened?”
“Oh, Mom’s back just hurts.”
Without missing a beat, he walks over and wraps his little arms around my neck and rests his head atop mine. “I take care of you. It’s okay, I take care of you.”
And I just about melted into a puddle on the floor.
Because in that moment, not even knowing it, that is exactly what I needed to hear. Because parenting is hard as shit and my growing toddler has been testing my patience and proving that I was wholly unprepared for the three-year old personality.
While I’ve been running myself ragged making sure I am parenting my boys and keeping them happy and healthy, I’ve admittedly put myself at the bottom of my care list. And I’ve never been the type of person who wanted someone to take care of me. I’ve been pretty independent in that way all my life.
But damn, to hear my young say those five words was one of the most loving things I have ever heard.
And something I won’t let him forget when I’m elderly.