This morning I woke up to pancakes, already made.
This is new for us, this season where I don’t have to make the pancakes on Saturday morning, and my husband doesn’t either.
When I was a new mom and had three kids three and under, Saturday morning looked like every other morning – get a few sippy cups and a bottle of milk and some breakfast, and then everything else they needed between the hours of 6am and 7pm. I would crash after they went to bed like a waitress who just worked a double shift because, well, I did.
Sometimes, when I hear from a mother who has two or three kids, aged five and under, who is swamped and going through Hard Days and not thriving and barely surviving, I want to grab her hand and tell her that she is in the Hard Days and that it will get better. Then I want to …