I can’t keep up. The house is a mess. I’m behind on laundry. My Fall decorations were a decent attempt, but they lost their festive effect the first day they were surrounded by discarded toys and papers from school. We have no system, no command center, no organization. Bedtime varies, moods vary, and my enthusiasm for parenthood absolutely varies.

I think about it all the time. Someday I will walk through my house, picking up as I go. I’ll look back after I’m finished and it will still be clean. I’ll look at my calendar, and there will be free time. I’ll look around my house, I’ll be able to breathe, and I’ll miss my three insane little roommates ever so desperately.

“You’re gonna miss this,” I remind myself as I take a deep breath, pour a glass of wine, and pick up a lego house and two barbies on my way to finally put my feet up.

“Let them be little,” I mutter as I let them get up for a fourth and fifth time to say goodnight, get another hug, a drink of water, and yet another trip to the bathroom.

“It’ll get better,” I say as I start to think about what is happening tomorrow, try to remember what I’m forgetting, and think about who needs what for the coming weekend.

“I’m gonna lose my shit,” I say loudly to my husband, wondering if he can hear me over the crunching of his bedtime bowl of cereal .