It’s ten minutes past their bedtime and my husband walks in from work wearing gym shorts.
…and they are dripping with sweat.
I am almost certain that he left in slacks.
You would think that maybe doing some push ups here with two toddlers clinging to my back would be satisfying enough, and let’s face it, there isn’t anyone at the gym challenging you between crunches not to land on Thomas the Train.
…but I secretly dream of the day where I can revisit my solitude and go for a run BY MYSELF without a double wide and baby in the carrier.
Let’s Be Real.
My at home gym gets me covered in zoodles, paint, and spit up.
I spring out of bed within the first sound of a little voice calling mom. Sometimes this is 1 am, and on the longer mornings, it’s 7. Last night was 4.
Now, where I am grateful for these little voices, I am tired. And yet, my day has begun.
I love my days.
In fact, I actually feel more fulfilled watching my boys stack each couch cushion on the floor only to crash land from the coffee table.
Have you ever listened to a two-year-old laugh?
That deep belly laugh that makes their eyes twinkle?
Have you ever seen the way those chubby cheeks smile up at you because they just came up with the greatest game ever? It’s delightful.
But again. I have been up since 4. And I would really like to go for a run. Alone.
Do I even remember how to run?
You coming home in your sweaty gym shorts reminds me that I haven’t had the chance to try.
To lose myself in my thoughts.
To fit into those jeans again.
But you did. You went for that run.
For, I admire your strength.
I admire your motivation.
And I would really like you to understand how I long to come home in sweaty gym shorts.