Running away…

I’m quite proud of this transition from the last post. From being sulky that my husband wasn’t in for the work of making baby number three, to desperately wanting to run away from everything.

Get me right. I love my family. Above all. And I would do everything for them. This life, with this family, with my two wonderful children and my amazing husband, is everything I ever wanted. I wouldn’t change a thing! (Well… That last thing is a lie, but there is not much I would change even if I could.)

But some days. Some days are just incredible! All I want is to get away. So far away it is possible to get. My mind starts wandering about possibilities of how to get an hour to my self. And I do not find a single escape. I’m stuck.

At one point today I stood at the middle of the floor, hands before my eyes, completely frozen. For the hundredth time today the four year old was screaming her lungs out. Because “I can’t draw flowers the exact way I want to”. The 18 month old was screaming at the top of his lungs because… Well… I have no idea. I considered who in close enough proximity could be able to babysit for the next hour. Or the rest of the day. No solutions what so ever.

All I wanted to do was to run away. To escape this crazy life of tantrums and impossible desires.

I picture my self at a delicate, all-grown-ups, warm climate yoga retreat. I picture long calm days with beach, sun, time. Most of all time. Time and silence. Then I remember the laugh of the 18 month old. The goodness of my four year old. The happiness. The craziness. How I love it all.

I really love it all! But still I can’t wait till work tomorrow. A quiet cup of coffee and grown ups to talk to. How do the not-working moms do it?

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