Raising two little ones, eighteen months apart is a challenge. Keeping from pulling my hair out, is even more difficult.

They are adorable, most of the time, and they know how to tug at my heart strings.

I’m no longer twenty-one, and we’ll leave it at that. Two weeks ago, I realized that the older I get, the softer I become, and for a woman like me, it was tough to accept. Why? Because then I’d have to admit that the energy I once had was depleting.

When my three older children were younger, keeping up with them was an easy task. I never stopped and questioned a situation – I just went with the flow and kept up.

Fast forward eleven years later; it’s a totally different situation.

My morning ritual consists of struggling to get up before my three and five-year-old and decide which form of caffeine I should ingest to get me going. Coffee made at home or Starbucks. The latter usually wins out, especially during the holidays. Between their variety of drinks, I tend to give into my espresso addiction and indulge.

During my early morning drives, I find myself asking a lot of questions that I believe will never get answered, which is fine because I’m beginning to think it has a lot to do with my “writer’s mind,” where I’m analyzing every situation. Or so my husband tells me.

Last week was no different. In my Motherhood:v2.0  post, I wanted to know if I needed to update my “manual,” on raising modern children.  This week, I’m curious to know why we women are able to have children late in our lives, but aren’t given the energy to keep up with our adorable little monsters for the fourteen hours bundled into our days as Mom.

I laughed the other night hysterically after realizing I was counting down the hours when I’d be able to start getting the kids ready for bed, tuck them in and kiss them goodnight.

If I’m not too exhausted, the three of us get a bedtime story, and during that moment, I’m hoping that the kids will go to sleep before I do.

By nine in the evening I’m ready to collapse. Except, I still have a chapter to write. When 10:30 rolls around I’m ready to go to bed. I remember when midnight use to be my bedtime and I could write until my heart was content. Now, I’m on my three and five-year-olds schedule.

I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter what time I lay them down for bed (7-8pm) they still wake up at 6:15 am. I thought by the time I had my two younger ones, God would have mercy on me and give me a boost of energy to last at least through the toddler years.

Is it bed time yet? Soon. Soon three becomes four, four becomes five and these precious moments through blurry eyes are cherished memories, and our challenges are long forgotten.