It’s a labour of love, right?
We love those little cherubs – especially when they’re asleep.
We’d die for them – but we just don’t want to have to make them dinner every night.
I know you all hear me loud and clear. In your totally fried mind, within your utterly exhausted bodies, I know you agree with me that the emotional, physical, and financial (geez is that it? Only three?) sacrifices are (mostly) worth it for the joy and fulfilment our beloved offspring contribute to our lives (50 – 80 percent of the time).
That is why I need to tell you that there is hope, you guys. There is light at the end of the dark tunnel. (I am joking: sometimes the tunnel is lit by glow-in-the-dark slime because it gets everywhere.)
It started for me about three weeks ago, when I was at Woolies and my son, who’s 11-and-a-half, sent me this text message while he was in the library (20 metres away in the same complex, with a phone he has because he sees his dad separately, so please just focus on the positives here):