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I Can Do This

Looking around this house I let out a huge sigh of frustration.

Laundry piled up to be done. Dishes overflowing in the sink. Dishwasher to be emptied. My son, who just got two shots at the doctor is crying in his room. He woke up after a quick 20 minute nap when he usually does two hours. I’ve got so much work stockpiled in front of me just for my day job so let’s not talk about my other job; you know, motherhood.

My thighs are burning from my early morning workout. I spilled chili all over the only shirt I have that fits right and is clean. I’m dreading the rest of the day and all the crap I have to conquer.

I text my husband:
Me: I can’t do this.
Him: Do what?
Me: Work. Watch him.
Me: Looking around at all the shit I have to do and the work I have to do. I’m just tapped.
Him: What do you suggest?

The wailing is not stopping and I have to get on a call with a potential sponsor. I’m sure he’s hungry again. Would sit him in his high chair if I had bothered to clean it up after breakfast. I sit him down anyway and then clean it.

Out of Cheez-Its. He already had graham crackers. Bananas are still green (which makes me curse my husband under my breath for buying green bananas!). What do I give this sad, crying child to snack on while I attempt a conference call without crying?

I head right for the candy bin. Fuck it, I think to myself.

He had two shots! He had a crappy nap! I have to keep him quiet! Silently, I justify myself. Bring on the candy!

I grab a peanut butter cup heart left over from Valentine’s Day. The same candy I’ve been avoiding for a month now. Every time I walk by the closet where it lives, I tell myself don’t do it. You’re better than eating that.

I get the adorable little Babar the elephant plate, a cutting board, and our heavy duty, fancy knife. Unwrapping the candy, I place it on the board and carefully slice the big heart into four pieces. Clearly somewhere in my warped mind if it’s cut nicely and presented tidily on a plate, it will make me feel better about it.

He only needs one piece and I put it on the plate. Then I put on another one and a third. I figure I can eat the last piece, why not. But I don’t. I add the fourth and final piece to the plate. I fill up the milk sippy cup and place both onto his highchair tray. My son is looking at me as if I’m on crack.

I get the whole thing?! I can read the sentence with his eyes. Don’t judge me, I tell him. He quickly, as if I’m going to change my mind, devours the whole thing. He’s happy as a clam full of chocolate.

I try not to feel guilty. I look at the time. I have forty-five minutes until school pickup. One big presentation to finish. Many emails to reply to. Four project plans to finish. My sponsor blew of my call giving me extra time. Extra time? What a concept!

Son gets cleaned up from his chocolate mess.

I get one big hug from him which changes my attitude.

Music goes on – loud. 90s playlist baby.

I can do this, I mutter while surveying the land one more time.

I can do this, I say a bit louder.

I CAN do this, I yell.

I look over and while doing my pep talk, see my son has climbed onto my glass kitchen table and is dumping out pepper from the shaker.

Many expletives pass my mouth towards no one or nothing in particular.

I can do this, I mutter one more time.

I won’t give in to the chaos, the chocolate. I won’t give up.

I will make it through the day, alive!

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