I found a pencil in my bra

Dear Delyara, I wish that were a metaphor. It was not. I discovered it while changing, and for a second I genuinely could not understand my own life. Then it came back to me — homework at the table, child leaning on me, me carrying too much, answering too much, holding too much, and somewhere in the middle of all that, a pencil got tucked into the nearest available place and my body apparently qualified as storage. I laughed. Then I felt tired in a way that had nothing to do with stationery. Because that’s what family life does. It uses you as surface, memory, container, map, solution, and emotional sponge all at once. And sometimes the absurdity of that lands harder than the labour.