Right now my husb is making Sunday morning breakfast. Bacon, toast, eggs. Earlier, at the dawn of day, I downed 2 cups of coffee and fell back into bed, dejected. Someone finally got the kid to take his morning nap, and it wasn’t me. Hubby drained the last dregs of the coffee pot into his tiny cup before I could get to it (I’m so selfish here.) Every day I seem to make far too much, or far too little. Java, the blessed beverage that reminds me that I’m a grown-up, and I’ll drink what I like.

I have to praise him, my other half. Not just because he occasionally reads this blog. I have to say that I have a great guy because he knows how I operate. He loves me anyway. Today, he stood by the stove, pushing bacon strips around on the pan, while I reenacted a moment with our son, where Little J laid his head on my shoulder lovingly, grinned at me, and smacked me swiftly in the eye with his sticky hand, all inside 10 seconds. My husband just sighed and said, ‘Please don’t hit me, I get it.’ Then he told me that everything was going to be alright. He hugged and kissed me. Then he made a joke about a similar morning when I had been up with the child since 5:30am — where I said something horrible and uncanny like, “FIVE-THIRTY, F&p;(*(KERS!”

I read a post by IzzyMom in which she admitted to wanting to leave everyone to fend for themselves, to run away and never come back. I think we all get to that point. Even my own mother probably did. Motherhood is challenging. But I welcome the hurdles, once I get a chance to cool off. I embrace any challenge when I take a bite of delicious bacon, peanut butter on toast. And eggs. Over medium. That’s how I like them done. I figured this out about 12 years ago, around the same time I met my husband. Since then, he’s always known how I like my eggs cooked. He doesn’t have to ask. It’s reasons like this that make me appreciate being married. Sometimes the dreaded office job or the day-in day-out of being a homemaker incite you to yelling, slamming doors, or almost throwing objects across the room. Sometimes, when you’re one year old, you hit your mother in the face.

But, your family will love you anyway.

PS~ Through my window, I just heard the neighbor woman scream, and her toddler start to cry. Then I heard the consoling voice of his father. I’m guessing he fell off of something, onto the pavement. No one seems to escape the challenges, do they? Nope.