At the end of today (living in 2020/21 as a baseline - something we can all agree is already a low bar), I struggled through witching-hour meltdowns, dinner time negotiations and never-ending dirty dishes.
I made it to the finish line of bedtime and transitioned right into having a tame argument with my husband while I made "adult dinner". All while listening to our youngest cry it out as she fell asleep. We've come accustomed to tuning it out. (And, realistically, it never lasts longer than 4 minutes.) But tonight, the four minutes felt especially long.
As mothers do, I was watching butter melt to the perfect consistency to pan fry fish, explaining my frustration to my husband and "sink-defrosting" said fish-to-be-cooked. All while in the background hearing my toddler start singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to the screaming baby.
And that's when it broke. My heart.
My sweet, albeit <sometimes> annoying three-year-old was being so sweet. So genuine. So helpful.
My girl. My heart. My love.
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