It's only taken me six years.
But I've finally worked out what it is that I really struggle with in this parenting lark.
It's the noise. The constant, wearing, soul-draining, sensory over-loading noise.
My children don't do quiet. When they're happy, they're loud. When they're sad, they're loud. Angry? Loud. Excited? Loud. "Playing quietly"? Yup. Loud.
I'm sure that once they're all at school or, unimaginably far off, have left for good, the house will seem unbearable for the quiet: eerily empty, without the screaming, shouting, giggling, moaning, idly conversing to the person next to them as though in a high wind.
But for now, there's not much I wouldn't give for half an hour of peace.
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