I can barely get from one side of the bed to the other in our bedroom. It felt small before the kids arrived and we had extra rooms to use as dumping grounds, not it feels virtually claustrophobic. What felt cozy in the depths of winter, now feels claustrophobic.

I need room to breath or I might scream with any air I can muster. Click To Tweet

The laundry piles up right and left and I begin to contemplate whether disposable clothes are as practical, if not more so, than disposable diapers. The calendar fills to overflowing with activities to get me and the kids out of the house after the long winter of confinement, which apparently still isn’t over yet.

Another cold, another ear infection. More doctors appointments and co-pays. More prescriptions. I’m just about done with this cycle.

Our tiny city backyard is filled with the detritus of last year’s plantings and I start to dream of spring. At the same time, noticing the limitations wishing for more space.

How can I keep the house and be out here with the kids? If we had a bigger, safer yard where they could play alone would they be happier children?

I feel so crowded, crushed, hemmed in and I just need room to live, not just exist. I want to have the room to enjoy my kids to just maintain them and to find joy in my life, not just pass the time.

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