Some days it gets too much. Not the crying, or the whining, or the bickering, or the constant questions. It's not the runny noses, or the cries for snacks, or the screams for attention.
I've moved around so much that I'm just fragments of stages of my life. To me, they create a kaleidoscope of experience and depth but to others, they can only see that me that is present.
There was no book about this growing up. There was no warning about how intrinsically I would change when my heart left my body in two separate pieces in the form of these perfect mini-mes that will inevitably grow to hate me.