Who’s really in charge here?

Its 2am. I’ve shuffle walked across the house. Just before I shoulder checked the bedroom doorframe, I realized that I like to do this thing where I stay up way too late at night and completely hate myself for it in the morning. Alli’s room has a distinct smell. “That” distinct smell. She’s upset. I pick her up and make my way to the changing table. “How can you produce this much poop from no more than you eat?” A few minutes later she’s clean, re-clothed, bottle in mouth and falling back asleep. Then it kinda hit me how on-demand these little humans are. Its rewarding to know that their well being is dependent on my triumph as a parent. The fact that they’re all still breathing and healthy must mean I’m doing well enough to consider myself a success. As I shuffle walk back down the hallway to my bed a spirited cry comes from behind me. My head drops. She must’ve rolled into the side of the crib again. Returning into the room of this little “on-demand” princess for the second time in a row at 2am I ask myself one question, “who is really in charge here?”

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