This is Parenting

It’s Monday and you wake up feeling reasonably rested, having gotten up only once to provide a quick feed the night before.

It’s Wednesday and you wake up feeling like you’ve scarcely slept, probably because you’re total sleep for the night is a little over five hours, and that was broken up by two lengthy rocking sessions with a restless baby.

It’s Monday and your mom instincts are on point. You reflect on how much easier it is the second time and how little crying there was today.

It’s Wednesday and you haven’t got the faintest idea how to stop the crying. Is this someone else’s child? Surely you should know how to comfort your own?

It’s Monday and you glow with happiness the whole day as the three year old dances around to the delight of the baby watching her.

It’s Wednesday and you’ve cried three times before noon. Twice because he is, once because you snapped at the three year old out of frustration with the baby, and feel terrible for it.

It’s Monday and the morning has been so delightful that you serve macaroni, the three year old’s favourite, for lunch.

It’s Wednesday and the morning has been so draining that you serve leftover macaroni for lunch, because you just need a win.

It’s Monday and you relish in breastfeeding, pondering whether two years is too late to quit.

It’s Wednesday and you feel like a dairy cow desperate for freedom from breastfeeding, pondering whether tomorrow is too soon to quit.

It’s Monday and it’s hard to pick a favourite part of the day because there were just so many moments that made you smile.

It’s Wednesday and your favourite part of the day was when the three year old was in her room and the baby was in his bouncy chair and you managed to hide in the shower for 10 minutes.

It’s Monday and you share a silly anecdote on social media about how much the three year old loves to read.

It’s Wednesday and you didn’t pick up your camera once because why would you want evidence of your failure of a day?

It’s Monday and your husband walks in the door after work to see the three year old helping you make a delicious supper of honey garlic chicken with roasted sweet poatoes and beets, while the baby coos happily with some toys on the living room floor.

It’s Wednesday and your husband barely had his shoes off before you all but throw the baby at him and flee upstairs, where you do the only thing you can think of to unclench your brain – write about it.

It’s all parenting. Monday aren’t easy and Wednesdays aren’t all bad, but man, when you’re in the thick of it, it’s hard. At the end of the day, you just have to trust that someday the week will contain more Mondays than Wednesdays.

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