Living

There are moments lately when I find myself struggling to breathe.  I gasp sometimes, falter, and fall down; half exhausted, half discouraged.  I enjoy everyday, every single one of them, even yesterday when I reigned the victor of a food fight, a vomit competition, and a pissing war.  However, so often I find that the weight is literally sitting on my chest waiting to cave in my lungs and push my heart into my backbone.  Perhaps that is my problem.  Perhaps my heart just needs to get a backbone.  Is courage the ingredient lacking in my will to succeed? 

I have been pushed so far recently.  Pushed by a fussy, needy baby.  Pushed by an increasingly annoying hubby.  Pushed by being a mother of four never resting and never forgiving little boys.  It makes me ill.  Honestly it makes me ill to think about going to bed once again to wake up with two boys in my bed suffocating me and drain all the strength I have left. 

There are times I just want to scream along with them.  It is all so frustrating.