My husband is trying to be helpful, but his version of being helpful is asking me over and over and over, "can we pack this now? Can I help you pack that? What about this?" when I've said I need a BREAK.
I finally had to spell it out for him, "No. Thank you. I don't want to sit on the couch while you bring me things to pack. I need to STOP for at least an hour. I feel like crap, I think I have strep and I have not had more than a few hours of sleep each of the last seven nights."
I love that he wants to help, but right now I just want him to take over with the kids and leave me be for a bit. Is that SO hard?
A friend once likened my struggle to conceive to catching lightning in a bottle. Four times we've succeeded, twice the bottle broke. One firefly flits around the living room, the other watches her in amazement. I watch them both with awe, gratitude and a serious need for caffeine.
So don't even try.
When you're right, you're right
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Someday this blog will be about life after the days of checking the toilet paper. In the meantime, this is where I dish on marriage, infertility, losses and the motherhood that comes after. Stick around - it could be fun.
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