Every day I spend hours rocking the baby to sleep, long past the time that the rest of the kids fell asleep, long past the time that makes an acceptable bedtime.
Every morning I wake the same baby during her morning sleep to drive the rest of the kids to their destinations.
Every afternoon, I scream like a banshee because the house is a disaster, I'm covered in spit up, the dinner is not ready, or not cleaned up, and somebody still has schoolwork and the temerity to ask about watching TV.
Every day I get a forward with amusing something or other from one of the grandmas.
Every day my mother calls, asking me to call when I can.
Every day I wonder whether my husband will be home for dinner or bedtime, whether he will bother to tell me.
Every day my son asks why I yell so much.
Every day whatever gets started does not get finished.
Every day I'm solving yesterday's dilemmas, cleaning up yesterday's mess, checking yesterday's schoolwork.
Every day I yearn for connection beyond superficiality, but I have no time and energy for one.
Every day feels like an escalator from which I cannot get off.