Sometimes, parenting feels like this:
Sometimes, it's more like this:
Aaaaand sometimes it's a lot like this:
Whichever kind of day it is, it's always exhausting. And always, probably, slightly amusing if viewed from the outside, and not the centre of the never-ending tornado of demands for attention and time and creativity and negotiation and love and nurturing and every ounce of patience I own.
A bit like writing. My other baby. My quiet baby.
Still. They all keep me up at night.