My confession of the week is that sometimes I want to run away. I mean get in the car and drive to Mexico and not look back. Sometimes I sit and think how jealous I am of my single friends or my friends who don't have kids. They get to go out to dinner or a movie or read a book or take a nap or most of all SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT whenever they want to. They are free from diaper duty, tantrums, constant illness provided by the four year old in preschool, and never ending worry about people so small they can't tell you what is wrong.
After the twins were born, there were days where I longed to trade lives with any one of them. Surely their lives were so much better than mine. I felt completely trapped and chained to my house and my life. My twins were preemies and needed to be kept home and protected from germs. It was lonely, scary, and depressing.
Now three months, the swine flu, and one cold later, I learned that there is only so much I can do in the way of protecting my babies from the germs their sister so generously shares on a regular basis (We bathed in hand sanitizer and even wore masks for pete's sake). I began to return to normal life and the renewed realization that I am so grateful for my kids.
I wouldn't trade my moments with my children for a billion dollars or a million nights of perfect sleep. An unsolicited hug from my one year old, a smile and a coo from my tiny twin boys, and a hug and I love you from my four year old are so priceless and are worth every personal sacrifice I have and ever will make. There are times when I want to run away, yes, but after a few minutes locked in my bathroom with the fan on, I return to the chaos, my chaos, and feel so blessed to be a part of it.
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