You, putting your make up on one handed, clinging onto the pole and trying not to poke yourself in the eye. Your skills are amazing. Nobody will be able to see those shadows. You have a Thomas the Tank Engine sticker on your bag.
You, holding your head up with one hand, scrolling through baby photos with the other. I don't know what causes this compulsion to repeatedly look at our little ones' photos whenever they are absent; but keep going, zoom into those chubby little cheeks. Whoever is looking after them won't be able to resist loving them too. They are in good hands.
You two, with your passive aggressive conversation about whose turn it is to cook, to clean, how you're going to manage the nursery run. Exhaustion breeds contempt. There's every chance your relationship will be perfectly fine when you finally get a full night's sleep.
Me, calculating exactly how few hours sleep I got last night. A second coffee will make me feel nauseous. Tired and unable to focus, or on form but a little bit sick? This is just a phase. It's the big man's turn tonight; I will get to sleep again. Last day before the weekend. The little man was still adorable, even at 2am.
You can do this. I can do this. We are all doing this, every day.
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