Killing me softly

Back in the day, when I was the only person I had to physically care for, it was easy to be on time. I didn’t like being late. I liked being 5 minuets early. You know, it gave me time to process. Today is a far different story.

Now, being late produces great amounts of anxiety in me. As this anxiety starts building and riddles its way from finger tip to arm and from arm to trunk and from trunk to neck and neck to head and then all of a sudden loud barking noises start spewing out of my mouth. Along with the unintelligible noises come copious amounts of saliva that spatter the walls and windows as I am ordering my little army to BRUSH YOUR TEETH, GET YOUR SHOES ON, GO GO GO WE ARE GOING TO BE LAAAAATE!!!!!!

At the height of being late this morning, with CT almost 35 seconds from missing the bus, PJ unable to get her apples into her snack bag without falling into a billion pieces and KP still running around naked playing with a 5 foot long sausage link of dirty diapers from the diaper genie, I took a second and wondered…could choosing to stay at home with your kids actually kill you prematurely?

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