The other day, we were awoken by our toddler at 5:45AM. (Gotta love two year old sleep regression). It was no wonder that we found ourselves out for a walk (and bike ride) at 8:00AM. We had a whole morning to walk with nothing planned for a toddler who is too cranky to deal with life these days.
So there I was, standing in the park at 8:00 am with an unused baby carrier hanging down from the waist, carrying a flaying overtired toddler in my arms, a restless dog tied to the stroller, an abandoned bike perched precariously from the handlebars, rocking a stroller with a baby I hoped so dearly would not wake up. Where were my other six arms, that's what I wanted to know??
I am feeling the need to graft some arms onto this tired body of mine--one to hold my son, one for my daughter, one to wrangle and pet the dog. One for the troubles and worries and fears in my son's life, one for the restlessness in my daughter's. One for my husband too because I love him and want to hold his hand sometimes. And if an octopus has eight, I'd need one for cooking and dishes and laundry. And, do I dare ask for one arm for myself to put on make-up and drink warm coffee rather than my cold cup of coffee hours after it's been brewed. Somehow I sort of think that still wouldn't be enough.
But for now... I only have two and they are starting to get pretty buff. Fatigued but strong.
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