Blessed to death

If my days could be described by the words that I speak more often than any others they'd be: "I'm tired."
"No, Neil."
"Stop yelling."
"Hi, sweetie."
"Do you have a poopie diaper?"
"Are you hungry?"
"Oh, God, you're heavy."
"Let's go take a nap."
"I love you soooooo much."

If my days could be described by my body language it would be:
Rubbing my eyes in exasperation
Refixing my hair to get it out of my face
Making silent screams of bad, bad words to the ceiling
Smiling my proud mama smile
Rubbing my aching back
Rubbing my messed up wrist
Pulling my damn pants up again
Grimacing
Sighing
Sighing
Sighing
Smiling eyes tearing
Sad eyes tearing
Alert, concerned eyes seeking

If my days could be described by the emotions that flood me, they'd be:
Exhaustion
Peace
Exasperation
Joy
Love
Anger
Frustration
Isolation
Confusion
Guilt
Hope
Pride
Despair
Concern
Relief

If my appearance could describe my life it would be:
Pooching mama belly
Stretch marks
Tired eyes
Smeared makeup or none at all
Messy clothes
Bad hair
Dry, cracked skin on my overwashed hands
Dirty feet
Disheveled

My words, my gestures, my emotions and my appearance describe my life as it is: chaotic and insane shit and bliss. It's such a crazy mix of good and bad that is still worth every minute. I wouldn't trade it for the world, although I'd love a fucking break. Let's face it, I've been blessed to death.