Many days this past week have been awful, in the sense of “I am yelling at my daughter and I don’t even know WHY and I can’t seem to stop myself.” I was so tired last week, one morning I tried to make tea without a tea bag (but with honey), and last night I went to bed at 7:30. Now Iris’s sleep is getting slightly better, but not so much that a sane person would notice, you know what I mean? Anyway, I am certainly not depressed, because there are all kinds of things I’m dying to do (write, knit, clean up this goddamned house). But it turns out I am sick of being a parent. How come no one ever says that? Maybe everyone else is mature enough to just say “I need a little break.” But to me it doesn’t feel like that, it just feels like I am sick of the whole thing.
Regardless, I am getting some sort of break: I am going back to (two days a week) work tomorrow. And the girls both start day care tomorrow. I am sure that the books say not to do that. To stagger the starts so it’s not everyone’s first day at once. But we love to flaunt the rules, so here we go. Bags are packed. Clothes are labeled. Milk is pumped. I can only hope that eight-ish hours in the office will do something to renew my affection for my family, because for the past many days it’s been at an all-time low.