I'm throwing my hands up and scowling at you January 2015.
I had lofty goals and seemingly simple aspirations until you, you, you.
So I'm telling you I'm over it. I give up. I throw in the towel.
I'm tired of the constant colds rampaging through my house without even a two week break in between. I'm tired of the sniffles, the ear infections, the chasing a toddler around the house trying to get her to take her medicine (or the forcing her down like an inpatient to get drops in her eyes or ears or wherever they are supposed to go). I'm tired of being woken up all night to the heartbreaking sounds of toddler coughs when they are only 3 FREAKING months away from being able to take cough medicine.
And that little fun trip to the ER you threw in, I'm over that too. (Side note: ovarian cysts, oxycodone, vomiting, and pain - I'm over all of that too).
I'm tired of trying to run even the tiniest business while dealing with all this mess you caused January.
My house is a disaster, my child pretty much thinks all meals consist of crackers, Gerber yogurt drops and applesauce, and I'm tired. Really tired. I went to lay down for a minute yesterday and woke up four hours later. I feel like I could cry a river, a Justin Timberlake music video worth of rain and frustration and sadness.
And the month of my despair has only taught me one thing thanks to too many hours on Instagram:
I'm the only person in the universe that doesn't own this rug.
Please don't tell me to hang in there mama. I appreciate the sentiment but there is literally nothing left to hang on to. It's all covered in germs and slippery with tears.