Being needed

 There must be a perfect balance between being needed and not. 

Tonight I was needed too much. The six-year-old barging in on my shower to poop in front of me, then to tell me she wants me to feed her the remains of her dinner. The one-year-old screaming bloody murder unless she was seated on my lap in a very specific way, and bursting into tears every time I disappointed her by getting up to get something. 

I love them awfully. But when my husband went out for dinner and drinks and I was trying to bathe a hysterical, slippery toddler, "it's not fair" kept replaying itself in my head like a bona fide devil's whisper.

 "It's not fair" that he gets to go out for me-time when I had none today.

"It's not fair" that he's meeting two groups of friends while I only had these two crazies.

"It's not fair" that I'm being held hostage by the nipple for hours and have never been out with my friends since our second child was born.

I tried to tear up my comforter. It made me feel better. 

How I would love one day of not being needed, I thought. Not at work, not at home. Nothing to answer to except the waiter asking what drink I would like by the pool.

But then I realised how lonely it would be to not be needed. 

This season will pass, bla bla bla. Tomorrow I will insist on my right to take my break, and we will all feel better, won't we? Man, motherhood is hard.