On this last day before the sun marks me one year older, my life was full of love. With noble intentions, I turned it to tears.
I wanted so badly to finish the cuff of bean’s diaper cover so I could try it on him. So, we stayed up, and stayed up, and stayed up, until it was 1850, an hour and a half past our normal bedtime routine. Bean was rubbing his eyes red and was so so so very tired. Still I stitched, stress growing by the moment and radiating to the two littles who waited on me in clear exhaustion.
And for what? There was no need to finish the cover. We won’t be able to use it until I purchase the lanolin anyways. I just had my stubborn pride telling me to finish! And I succumbed to it. There was really no need.
Reading this now, it all sounds so silly: both the fact that I messed up and the fact that I feel so very terribly about it.
What am I missing? What’s the secret?