Sometimes

I waffle a lot these days.

Sometimes, I feel so wonderfully supported and a part of something so big and wonderful. Some days, like today, I feel so incredibly alone and misunderstood.

Sometimes, I feel so hopeful and confident--like this girl and I will be fine. Some days, like today, I feel so in over my head. I have no idea how we'll make it financially. I have no idea how we'll find time to "just be."I just have no idea.

Sometimes, I feel so in love with my baby girl that I want to spend the day staring at her and taking in her sweetness. Some days, like today, I just wish she would sleep so I could blow dry my hair and have a good cry--alone, without her cries to accompany mine.

Sometimes, keeping my house up and taking care of our chores seems quite manageable. Some days, like today, I can't figure out how my house will ever be clean again, and I want to send all the baby gear to the dumpster.

I'm physically and emotionally exhausted. I feel like I've hit rock bottom.

I know, though, that not every day is like today.

This stanza from Longfellow's "The Birds of Killingworth" is painted above my bed. As I rock my baby to sleep, I stare at the poem, and I'm reminded "somewhere the birds are singing evermore." Morning always comes.

"Think, every morning when the sun peeps through
  The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove,
How jubilant the happy birds renew
Their old, melodious madrigals of love!
And when you think of this, remember too
  'T is always morning somewhere, and above
The awakening continents; from shore to shore,
Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.