The kind where getting out the door became an ever receding hurdle to jump.
The kind where I got milk sick between my toes, down my pants, and pooled on the floor.
The kind where my toddler squeezed his pureed snack pouch all over himself when I was paying attention to feeding my baby for the critical moment.
The kind where I decided I was superhuman and could mind my feisty toddler niece whilst looking after my own two bundles of joy, but the toddler-friendly enclosed easy to manage it all play centre was closed, and the subsitute park was overfull with primary school children (read here: niece wants to go on roundabout with the older children, niece wants to push roundabout like the older children, niece wants to walk on and off roundabout like the older children, all whilst it is moving faster than she is able and all during the time I am attempting to breastfeed my baby and my toddler is covering himself with savoury puree).
The kind where getting 3 nappies changed seems to take a ridiculous amount of time, and once all is done I realise showing the toddlers where the little stream is in the park was not best done right before said changes.
The kind where one kid cries and sets the other two off.
The kind where one kid goes to sleep and is abruptly woken by screaming.
The kind where it's hard to know which parenting tool to use to deal with the 35th growl/scream/hit/bite/grab.
The kind where getting to the end of the day is bliss. To sit on the couch, uninterrupted, dishwasher whirring... bliss.
I have incredible respect for my mother, and all the mothers I know who have kept showing patience on days like this.
Days like this. When the baby has just woken again...
God give me more of what only you can give.
