Being a parent is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
It’s continuous stress with only bouts of fun.
Sleep, I love, I miss so much.
But those babies… and the feel of their touch.
The smell, the hugs…
It’s like a drug.
I’m tricked, constantly, to care and love.
And I LIKE it, despite the messy drudge.
I’m tired of always caring for others
when, for me, no one ever bothers.
The sleep is a mess.
The kitchen’s a wreck.
The floor… the toys… it grates me everyday.
But then I would never, NEVER give them away.
The children, I mean. The toys can go.
It seems ironic, wishing for them to grow.
These are the good times, I’m living them now.
But I always forget it. Because, honestly, they kinda suck.

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