Tired

Right now I'm the kind of exhausted where you don't even have the energy to do the things you know will give you more energy. Yoga would probably help, but no way am I getting on that mat. A nap would undoubtedly do me good, but I've never been a successful daytime sleeper. Maybe a fruit smoothie would give me a kick, but the blender is so far away. All I can do is lie here in bed and watch the clock tick closer to the moment Mazin will wake up and want to play. I feel so guilty when I am too tired to play with him the way he wants to play. I don't want to be a boring mommy. I don't want to be an impatient mommy. But that's what I become when I am depleted like this. I just want to go off to a spa and get a massage and eat grilled shrimp and languish in a heated pool. Maybe have an afternoon margarita as I scan the New Yorker. Yes, that is my fantasy. Earlier in the day my fantasy involved first cleaning the house unimpeded and later doing a whirlwind tour of the big box stores to gather the various necessities we've been lacking for months. But that fantasy fizzled under the weight of this fatigue that has accumulated after nine days of being the primary (and often only) caregiver. I am happy for the house renovations that took John out of the childcare equation, but I have not enjoyed this taste of the single-parent lifestyle. I have been doing a lot of the things I would normally do, but without the help of a partner. The moral support alone that a co-parent provides is such an essential thing for me. Someone to roll your eyes with when your three-year-old gives you lip; someone to take turns fetching the various accessories your child seems to constantly require. I am always astounded by the amount of energy that parenting requires--and how little opportunity you often get to recharge. How do single parents do it? I really have no idea.