Imagine you have a job. A challenging, all-consuming job.

Then imagine, without warning, you get additional responsibilities. The kind of responsibilities that require you to work from the minute you wake up in the morning until the minute you go to sleep, without any breaks, even on weekends.

You get no pay increase. In fact, you’re out thousands of dollars because of these new responsibilities.

And imagine you can’t complain about it because these new responsibilities kind of come with the territory. You signed a contract.

That’s my reality right now.

Allan broke his leg. He can’t contribute to anything. He can’t do anything with Charlotte. Nothing around the house. Nothing with the dog. Nothing in the yard. He can’t drive himself to and from work. He can barely even take care of himself.

And while grateful to have health insurance, ours sucks. The state doesn’t have good health insurance AT ALL.

So it’s burden after burden after burden. And I can’t complain. Sickness and health, right?

And I can’t be mad at Allan. He didn’t mean to break his leg. It was an accident. A stupid, stupid accident.

At first, I thought it was funny and kind of exciting in a weird way. Oh! A cast! x-rays! But when the far reaching ramifications of what just happened hit home, I felt ill. I’m still extremely overwhelmed more than a week later.

And I’m bone tired. I have SO MUCH TO DO. My list of responsibilities never ends.

To make things worse – but better – my mom will be here on Friday. While I’m really looking forward to her visit and am genuinely glad she’s coming, she has high standards when it comes to how a house should look, toddler or no.

So, yeah. That’s my life for the next month or so. Wheeeee.