My four-year-old is in the living room playing with a dinosaur, a pig and Jessie the cowgirl from Toy Story. I’m trying to cook dinner. “Mama, mama, pllleeease can you play with me?” I hear a pot lid rattle. The broccoli is starting to smell burned; I dash back to the kitchen. “Help! Quickly come! I’m falling!” I rush through. She’s dangling from the sofa pretending to fall off the side of a volcano. “HEEELP!” The broccoli is definitely burning. And there goes the door. “Muuuuuum, I need a poo!”
This wild ride of five minutes is one most parents will recognise. Getting through the day is to feel like you’re being pulled in a solar system’s worth of directions, and by turns defeated, happier than you’ve ever felt before, like a husk, in control and like you’re careening off a cliff. It throws up a need to get very good at planning, and prioritising what demands to acquiesce to, when to say no; when to sit down and play, when to say: “Sorry, I need to sit down, or go for a run.”
