These are the days. Are they?

There is nothing glamorous about this time. It is, without a hesitation, the absolutely most difficult thus far. It bends every bit of my being; emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Two children, 22 months apart, both in diapers, both in high demand and need. One having age-appropriate toddler tantrums, one a baby. I'm sitting here writing while Lincoln cries in his crib. I need a break. You're sick, little one, go to sleep. You're not hungry, you're not cold, you're not poopy. Go. To. Sleep. Talon just opened his bedroom door. Written in March (?)