I'm a worrier. A basketcase. I lose my shit over some pretty trivial things. I own that, it's just who I am.
Today, I read for the first time Bennet's story and I am realizing I'm an asshole. Things like that really put life into perspective do they not?
I'm blessed to have a messy house, sticky floors, endless laundry, a demanding baby with a pretty quick temper and a six year old who knows everything.
It's hard to justify being pissed about Steve leaving something on the counter or Liam dumping sand out on the carpet when there are families out there fighting for their baby's life. Mom's who wish for a cluttered living room and bedtime stories and cuddles in the morning.
If I'm being honest, a lot of times I forget how truly blessed I am. My kids are healthy, Steve adores us, we have a nice house in a nice neighborhood and yes, we've had a few setbacks, and it can be difficult living off of one income, but I wouldn't want it any other way.
Sometimes I need to be reminded not to take things for granted. To read stories with Liam at night rather than watch Full House reruns. To not let the little things bring me down.