And sadly, no, I don’t mean the hip type. School drop off and pick up. Getting children to brush teeth and dress themselves. Changing peed on sheets. Massaging various egos. Sending birthday cards. Washing the clothes. Folding the clothes. Putting the clothes away. Wiping bum. Remembering to brush ones own teeth. Cooking food for people who will tell you what a crap job you did, and how much they hate what you served up to them. Watching your weaning baby struggle to crap now that she is on formula part time. Having your clothing choices and hair style bagged by the only one who you want to approve of said choices.
Now, please don’t misunderstand me. I adore The Groom. My children are truely lovely. We have enough money coming in to afford a roof and food etc. I am grateful for all of these blessings. Some days, however, it all seems like a hell of a lot of energy expenditure for precious little result. Is the baby going to recall how I hugged her to me while she strained to expell a brick turd? Na. I think I just cling to the hope that all these things that I, and most parents, do will be felt long down the track in the souls of our little ones as active love. Otherwise, what’s the freaking point? Maybe it just keeps us occupied until we die, and that’s all life actually is. Buggered if I know. I’ll certainly let you know if I find out. Now, I must go flush a nugget, that shit is ripe.