Some days it gets too much. Not the crying, or the whining, or the bickering, or the constant questions. It's not the runny noses, or the cries for snacks, or the screams for attention.
And maybe I do ask too much. Maybe this is just too hard for me. Maybe I'm just not the right type of woman to just accept this. Sometimes I doubt myself and start to believe it. But I am a good mom. I'm just tired and used and a little chewed up. Tired.
I've moved around so much that I'm just fragments of stages of my life. To me, they create a kaleidoscope of experience and depth but to others, they can only see that me that is present.