I’m trying really hard to be grateful because I love you so goddamn much BUT… you’re also hard fucking work.

I’m trying with all my might to feel #blessed but you’re pulling shit out of cupboards LITERALLY AS I’M TRYING TO PUT IT AWAY.

I’m really trying to make #memories but I’m stuck answering the questions you’ve asked 7000 times (but not listened to the answer) and refereeing your fights instead of remembering to feed myself or wee.

I’m TRYIIINNNGG to feel the joy while also jumping to attention every time you speak so I can meet your needs the very second you form the thought, while also breathing through the dregs of my patience as you take 742 years to do one the one simple task I ask of you, like GET IN THE FUCKING CAR SO WE CAN GO AND DO SOMETHING YOU WANT TO DO.

I’m trying TRYING to cherish every moment, but you know what? A good 80% of these moments are just hard 👏🏻 fucking 👏🏻 work.

The fun is buried under a pile of laundry.

The precious memories are lost on the sea of toys THAT NO ONE ELSE CARES TO PICK UP.

The giggles and cuddles are drowned out by the fighting and the whinging and the dobbing.

The sweet conversations and funny moments are constantly interrupted by emails and phone calls and paperwork and appointments – all for you because apparently children need personal assistants now.

Everywhere I turn, you’ve created a new job for me. Feed me, entertain me, clean this, find that, comfort me, teach me, WIPE MY BUUUUTTTT.

I want to sit and play. I really really really want to have fun with you. I want to be the fun mum! BUT I HAVE TO GET THROUGH THE WORK YOU HAVE CREATED BEFORE I CAN DO THAT WHY DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?

I know I should be counting my blessings. I get it okay? Some people would kill to be in my position. I’d never go back to my old life ever, but also SHUT UP NOT NOW I NEED A MOMENT.

I love you so much that sometimes I can’t even breathe. But… you’re also hard fucking work.