Sorry honey, no anniversary gift for you.

So, I didn't make it. I didn't get the present done that I was going to give my husband for our twentieth wedding anniversary. It was probably doomed from the start. The fabulous, heartfelt, essentially free, thoughtful Pinterest project that I meant to start sooner, that I lost part of yesterday, that I probably need at least another toddler-occupied or free half-day to complete. 

There was a brief moment, when my laptop needed to be charged, that I engaged in the fantasy that I could take the project up a notch or two with a couple more supplies. I would offer up a trip to the park, and maybe lunch in exchange for just 15-20 minutes at the craft store. With luck, I would still be able to squeeze my project into shape in time. All I had to do was get the two of us dressed and our teeth brushed. Easy enough, right? That's exactly what I thought, too. I even tried to truly implement the fantastic two-choice approach a friend shared with me. 

"Do you want to try putting on your pants, or your socks?" I asked. She continued to teeter between her own two options--running around in circles making noises with her tongue, and climbing up onto the vanities in our master bath as I tried to wash my face.

I decided to offer up another set of choices. "Do you want to brush your teeth, or try putting on your socks?" Same results. 

There was no trip to the craft store. 

So, with a heavy sigh, I recalculated my to do list, and decided to make lunch and work on some housecleaning chores until the laptop power light was green again. As I looked at the disaster area which is our living room, I thought I would offer yet a third set of choices to my two-year-old.

"Do you want to pick up your toys, or put your books back on the shelf?" She chose a third option--watching me do both. I would wonder if she just doesn't fully grasp the concept, but it was only last night that she placed all of her bath toys neatly in their net, making sure to rinse each of them first, and to advise me that she was cleaning up her mess. 

We finished lunch. I surveyed the bits of food, the yogurt slathered ottoman, and two full bags of clean laundry waiting to be folded and put away. I winced.  And I looked at the clock. 'Ireally should try to get her to take a nap,' I thought, 'or she's not going to get one.'

I shouldn't be disappointed or surprised. And I suppose I'm really not surprised. Right now, it feels like there was never another story of my life. 

My husband is awesome. He will be satisfied with nothing. Sadly, that's exactly what he's getting. I wanted to do this one thing for him, because he works so hard for us. I stay at home. It always somehow seems weird to buy a gift for him, because my career as a stay-at-home mom isn't really that lucrative. I know all the arguments people might toss out about that, but somehow all the money we save on daycare, my fairly up-to-date housecleaning schedule, and all of the Target ninja saving skills I have developed just don't make me feel like it's equal. 

I also know that my husband would say that everything I accomplish keeping our daughter alive and thriving each day is enough. 

I love our little girl. She's a gift. She's amazing. She's funny. She's our version of perfect. But she's also two. And she also gets E-V-E-R-Y ounce of my energy, brain power, normal speaking tone of voice, logic and presence. 

The one person who lives with both of us, and knows the level of chaos, destruction, noise, and insanity I work with each day only gets scraps. 

She has infiltrated every single corner of our lives and our marriage. We quietly co-sleep--not wanting to be judged by our friends--because before we started, I was lucky to get four or five hours of sleep a night. I still nurse her to sleep at naps and bedtime, because I don't know how to get her to sleep any other way--and even that way is difficult most of the time. Every nap and bedtime is a battle. I have given her my waistline, our bookshelves, a cabinet in my kitchen, part of my pillow at night, and a million things in between. 

I can only imagine what sane people are thinking. No, we don't spend enough time together as a couple. Yes, I need more mom-friends. No, I don't get enough time for myself. Yes, I'm probably "doing it wrong." But I swear, either everyone is lying about how easy "doing it right" is, or we just have a willful sprite for a child. 

I know that I make it all sound awful. Sometimes, it is. Moments like this one--when I feel like there's too little of me to go around, even though I also realistically, or unrealistically feel like there should be plenty. When we can't  even have a five-minute conversation without her jumping in the middle of me and making it abundantly clear that she needs my undivided attention. When I can't squeeze a shower into the day. When she dumps everything I just put away. Those are the moments I am pretty sure I will lose that infinitesimal sliver of my shit that is left. 

But...she is the light of our life. We waited most of the last twenty years for her. And, of course, we love her more than anything. And when she rolls over in the wee small hours of the morning and says "Ah, Mommy." Or she says "snuggle?"  Or "I loves you, Mommy," it's pretty hard to stay irritated.

So, my dear husband, as I am sure that these words will reach you when she stops using you as a jungle gym, the gifts I have for you in this moment are my intentions, my acknowledgement of everything I don't give you every single day, my gratitude for everything you make possible, and my love.

Oh, and a promise. I know by date night Friday I will have that super duper, fantastic Pinterest gift done for you, but for now, you will have to settle for my tired, shredded, insane heart. 

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