Rescued

There are days that I feel like I am drowning. Drowning in a sea of screams and whines and heartbreaking cries.

Today was one of those days.

Following a weekend of missed naps and cranky babies, I was barely treading water as it was. But I just kept thinking, "Wait 'til Monday. It's always better on Monday."

It wasn't.

I was holding my breath yesterday morning when I attempted to lay Claire down for her nap. All weekend long she had been resisting the nap — fighting the nap. But things are always better on Monday, so I dove head in and hoped that she would lay down and get some much-needed rest. She very loudly and resolutely said no.

And I had a mini-meltdown.

She was crying. Which made me cry. Which made her cry more.

We were a complete disaster.

So, I called my mom and told her in between sobs, "I can't do this job anymore. It's too hard. I don't know what's wrong with her. She won't sleep. She just cries. I just can't do this."

My mom, knowing exactly what I needed, said "Do you want me to come?"

Oh. My. God. Yes. Please.

So, she came, and sprinkled her magical grandmother dust on the girls, turning what could have been a major meltdown into a tolerable day.

And when she was leaving and the girls were laying down for the night and Claire was screaming her heart out, she gave me a hug and stayed with me until she fell asleep.

Turns out even 28-year-old exhausted, worn-out, frustrated moms need their moms, too.

Thanks, Mom. I owe you one.