So many things about being a mother of an almost-14-month-old are wonderful. And yet...sometimes I catch myself counting the months. "14 months...16 more months to go." 16 more months until I'll have a whole morning to myself, 5 days a week (that's when I plan to enroll him in a daycare for three or four hours a day).
The scary part is, sometimes I wonder if I'll have the stamina to survive and properly take care of him until then. It sounds pathetic, in that I have a wonderful husband, as well as an extremely competent babysitter who takes care of him for three hours once a week. And my son's getting better, a little better, at entertaining himself for short stretches of time. But there's no getting around it--keeping up with an active, hefty one-year-old is hard physical labor.
And I'm probably more tired than I've been in a while. I haven't been good about napping or resting when he takes his naps, recently...nor have I been getting to bed early enough. Just a little bit less sleep, and I fear that I'll make a mistake that I'll always regret; I know that it takes just a few seconds of misjudgment on a parent's part for an accident to happen.
And yet--I also know that it's wrong to think this way. It's wrong to keep thinking about the scary parts.
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