How much should I charge?

How much would you ask to be paid

for a job where you never sleep

—well, barely —

and must be ready to entertain,

cook (acceptable meals only),

rotate laundry twenty-four seven,

and keep the office

—I mean, the home —

clean and tidy?

Would you do it for free?

For payment in giggles,

half-chewed kisses,

and just to keep it interesting,

the occasional full-body scream in a grocery store,

or a tantrum about toast cut the wrong way?

You need to be so wide

a blanket octopus, stretching across the sky.

Yet also so small

a hush in the hallway,

tiptoeing past your own exhaustion,

concealer covering four hours of sleep

this entire week.

You need to be goofy and strict,

warm and firm,

the boundary setter

and the boundary bender

(ok, ok... just one more).

You shouldn’t cry at work.

You shouldn’t yell in the car.

You shouldn’t ask for help.

In fact,

you must not speak of your day at all.

Because it is better to stay silent

than to show the world

your parenthood.