Okay so I’m like, typing this on my phone and it’s probably 2 AM, I should be asleep, obviously, I have that big presentation tomorrow, like, a whole quarter's worth of data, and if I mess this up, forget about that promotion… but I just can’t sleep. This thing, it’s just… it’s been on my mind, for YEARS, you know? Like, since I was a kid. A really young kid. It all just hit me tonight when I was putting together that IKEA desk, you know, for my WFH setup. And the instructions were just… endless. And I had to make dinner, and like, I burned the rice a little, whatever, it’s fine, but then I had to call my boss about something, and I just kept thinking about how it used to be. Like, when I was twelve. That’s probably weird. But seriously, like, twelve years old. And Dad, he got that second job, like, mandatory. Said it was just for a bit, you know, to make ends meet after… well, after mom left. And it was every weeknight. EVERY weeknight. From, like, 5 to 9. And I was in charge. Me. The oldest. With three little ones. Seven, five, and three. And it was just… I was basically Mom. But also still, like, a kid? So my routine. It was etched into my brain, like, a whole PowerPoint presentation I didn’t even know I was making. Get home from school, drop my backpack, okay, first thing, make sure the little ones are out of their school clothes, like, before they get spaghetti sauce on their good shirts, you know? Then snacks. Always snacks. Usually goldfish and apple slices. The little one, Leo, he would always try to sneak extra cookies, and I’d have to be like, "Leo, we talked about this! Dinner first!" And he’d give me that, like, big, innocent-eyed stare. Ugh. Then dinner. That was the BIG one. Dad would leave, and it was just, like, chaos. What are we having tonight? Is it going to be pasta again? Or chicken nuggets? Or the frozen pizza that takes FOREVER? And I had to cook it, all of it. On the stove, in the oven, whatever. And simultaneously, like, make sure no one was playing with the toaster or drawing on the walls with permanent marker. One time Lily, the five-year-old, tried to give the three-year-old a "haircut" with kitchen scissors. I still remember the chunk of hair. Just… GONE. I almost cried. What was I supposed to tell Dad? And the homework. My homework. Their homework. Trying to help Sarah with her multiplication tables while Leo was demanding I read him *The Very Hungry Caterpillar* for the fifth time. And he would just start shrieking if I didn’t. SHRIEKING. And then everyone would start crying because Leo was loud, and I’m just trying to figure out, like, what’s the capital of Montana? And I’d have to put them all in time out, like, everyone just needs to be QUIET for five minutes. And I’d just stare at the wall. Five minutes. Just five minutes of quiet. And then after dinner, dishes. Always the dishes. A mountain of them. And the little ones would "help." Which usually meant splashing water everywhere and making more of a mess. And I’d just be like, "Okay, okay, just go watch TV, please." Just trying to get it done before Dad got home. Because if it wasn’t done, he’d just… sigh. And I hated that sigh. It made me feel like I hadn't done enough. Like I hadn't worked hard enough. And then bedtime. That was another whole production. Baths. Pajamas. Toothbrushing. Stories. Tucking in. And then, FINALLY, after everyone was asleep, I could, like, just collapse. And then Dad would come home, usually around 9:30 or 10, smelling like stale coffee and, like, whatever weird chemicals they used at the factory. And he’d ask, "Everything okay?" And I’d just say, "Yeah, Dad, everything’s fine." And then I’d just go to bed, too tired to even think. Too tired to even, like, be a kid. And it’s just… it still feels like that, sometimes. Like, I’m still always juggling everything. Like I have to be perfect, or it all falls apart. I mean, my quarterly review is next month. And I'm already stressed about the numbers. It’s just, like, this constant pressure, you know? To perform. To not mess up. To be responsible. Always. And I just wish… I don't know. I wish I didn't have to be.