I feel like I have failed. On the days when my son has a meltdown and I’m not sure why – because aren’t I meant to automatically know the cause of every sudden tantrum?
On the days when I can’t settle my baby daughter – because aren’t I meant to be able to calm and soothe her just because I’m her mother?
On the days when my son eats only a small bowl of porridge, a small bowl of pasta and a box of raisins all day – because aren’t I meant to feed him a home-cooked balanced diet?
On the days when my baby daughter falls asleep with vomit on her onesie – because aren’t I meant to dress her in freshly laundered matching clothes just so she can wear them in her Moses basket?
On the days when my son is bored because we’re spending the afternoon indoors – because aren’t I meant to entertain him with constant outings in the fresh air to tire him out?