The scene: Toys are strewn from one end of the living room to the other. The 2 year old is throwing a whining tantrum because I wouldn't let him carry a full basket of clean, folded towels down the stairs by himself. The 4 year old is asking me repeatedly for more milk, having spilled her last cup. The baby is laying on a blanket on the floor of the living room crying while I'm in the kitchen frantically washing the dirty baby bottles (which, incidentally, includes all the bottles we have) so I can feed her. I'm also trying to figure out how to arrange naps for both of the crabby older children since Hubby is currently asleep in the kids' room and somehow get 3 dresses, 5 vests, 5 bowties, 1 pair of leggings, and 1 rufflebutt onesie sewn today while holding the baby, who is not her usual happy self today. Just as I've finished washing the bottle collars and nipples and am starting in on the bottles, the bottle brush breaks. And then, the dishpan tips, spilling hot soapy water all over my feet. Tears ensue.
Overwhelmed is the understatement of the year.
Can anyone relate?
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