May I just say, for the record, that my body has just about had it. It’s been a long five years of baking, birthing and nursing babies.

Any new parent can get a little anxious when a flight is on the horizon. Vacations are great, but actually getting to your destination with babies and toddlers in tow? As a great man once wrote, Therein lies the rub.

It’s been a little while since we talked about working here…I’m talking about working a job. An out-of-the-house, insurance-providing, answering-to-an-actual-human-boss kind of job. (And not toddler humans. Adult humans.)

It clearly wasn’t enough for me to cut my wardrobe effectively in half, purge tons of my kids’ toys and basically tried to Kondo-fy my entire existence… Now, I’m targeting my real problem zone.

It always starts as a little redness around my nose. Little red dots. A cluster of itchy spots.

I don’t know if it speaks more to my exhaustion or just to the general lack of adult conversations in my life lately, that when my husband asked me recently what I did with a whopping 20 minutes of free time, I responded, “I write-ed.”

As you know, I gladly sacrifice my dermal integrity and the stability of my budget on a regular basis to test out beauty products, because hey, everyone needs to feel like they are contributing in some meaningful way to this world, and if that means randomly breaking out in hives to do so, I’m your girl.

Since the dawn of cameras, photographers, it would seem, have found more joy (and business) turning the lens more frequently on the faces and bodies of the fairer sex. (Hello, ladies!)

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Her tiny body—a little astronaut, I joke, in her footie pajamas, “docked” on me—lies across mine, her face pressed against me as she nurses, her tiny curled fist resting on my chest.