I have Things to complain about times three.
The laundry times three, the kvetching times three, the missed naps times three. The Lego I stepped on at three o'clock in the morning on the way to give the baby a bottle. The yogurt that gets finished too fast, the milk that gets spilled. Times three. The ripped books, the sticky floors and fingers. The dinners I spent time on that get poked and uneaten, the game of Candyland with two missing pieces, the...
...blog entries that get interrupted and I lose my train of thought so they stay, unfinished
When my baby wants to be held and I'm busy, and I hold him thinking about the million things I have to do, I also try to think about how much heavier it is to hold nothing at all.
Which is not exactly what i wanted to say.
Maybe there is nothing to say?