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I think if I were my husband, I would dread coming home to me on occasion. NOT our children, but me.
Not because I’m a bad wife, or a bad mom, and I’m not looking for the sympathy card by any means here, but because it’s not my finest hour.

When I’m falling asleep at night, on occasion, I feel bad and apologize to him, because when he walks through the door, frankly, I need a break.
I’m tired, I’m hungry, but need to finish making dinner, and generally, in desperate need of a glass of wine!
It’s chaos when he walks through the door, not only because it’s almost bed time for Addison, it’s our dinner time, and Brianna’s time to spend with her father. As soon as he walks in the door, she screams: “Daddy!”
While I know that’s one of the best parts of his day, I have to realize, Daddy was just at work all day and is exhausted too! I think I sometimes forget just because he wasn’t home helping me today, doesn’t mean he was having a leisurely lunch somewhere uninterrupted. He was AT WORK!
I make a conscious effort (most days) to try and keep that smile, energy and enthusiasm that I had all day playing with the girls into the evening. But more often than not, I run out of steam. I often find myself telling my husband all about our day in great detail, and almost defending myself, that I really wasn’t like THIS all day long, we actually had fun before I ran out of energy and needed a time out. He constantly reassures me, but I think I need to do a better job at reminding him that not only are our daughters happy to see him walk through the door, I can’t wait for that hug and kiss too! (and not just because he’s going to help me with the girls!)