You know that feeling when you're just *done*? Like, really, truly done. Not just tired, not just annoyed, but totally empty. That's where I was tonight. My kiddo had a rough day, which means *I* had a rough day, which means the house is a disaster, dinner was a fight, and bedtime was a marathon. And after he finally, finally fell asleep, I just… went to the pantry. Like, not to get a snack. Just to *be* there. In the dark. Surrounded by cereal boxes and canned goods. And I just cried. Silently, obviously, because if he wakes up it all starts over. But like, actual tears. The kind that sting. It’s weird, isn’t it? How you can just… lose yourself. You used to be a person who had thoughts and opinions and plans for the weekend. And now you’re just… the parent. The one who cleans up the messes and makes the food and is constantly anticipating the next thing. And sometimes, you just look in the mirror and you don't even recognize the person looking back. Like, who is this tired ghost? Where did she go? And then the guilt hits, right? Because you LOVE your kid, of course you do. They’re amazing. And you feel like a HORRIBLE human for even thinking any of this. For wanting a minute of quiet to just… exist as something other than a human services provider. So yeah, I was in the pantry. Crying into a bag of chips I probably shouldn’t eat anyway. And then I started laughing. Because what else are you supposed to do? It’s so absurd. This whole thing. Being a stay-at-home parent, especially to a kid who needs a lot, it’s like living in a pressure cooker. And the pantry is your only escape. Your dark, dusty, slightly-smells-like-onions escape. Honestly, if anyone ever found me in there, I’d just pretend I was looking for the obscure spice they needed for dinner tomorrow. What a life, huh? At least the chips were good.