Three quarters of the way through my labour with Oliver, I turned to Jesse and between contractions told him I can't do this any more.
But of course I did, because there was no alternative.
Sometimes it's like that in life, I think. Not quite as dramatic as giving birth, but more like a great big sigh at all the chores that replenish themselves daily.
But you keep going, going, going... because there's no alternative.
Sometimes I'm amazed that I just keep going. Aren't you?
I keep on taking laundry, and folding it, and putting it in people's drawers, every single day.
I keep on clearing plates, loading the dishwasher, unloading it, washing dishes that need to be washed by hand.
I keep on lying on the floor in an awkward face-down position so that I can reach under the sofa to pull out toys that will otherwise be forever lost under clusters of dust and dog hair.
I keep on cooking food for everyone (it's not always healthy food, and sometimes it's fast food from a fast food place, but whatever, it's always there).
I keep on doing all these simple things that go unnoticed but which keep the the household functioning.
And it's time spent performing ordinary tasks - not hours spent writing a business report that will later be seen and praised by my boss. They won't earn me a rise, or a promotion, or anything. Simply the right to carry on and do the same thing tomorrow.
But they're important, these things I do. They keep the invisible machine running.
And therefore I have decided that I am freaking awesome. Because I keep going, doing the mundane, boring things that need to be done.
And therefore, you are freaking awesome too.
You keep on going, all the time, doing things that sometimes you'd rather stick your head in the toilet and flush the chain than do. But you do them all the same.
Your awesomeness deserves more recognition.
That is all.