I heard my own tone and hated it

Dear Delyara, One child asked me an ordinary question. I answered in a tired voice that sounded sharper than the moment deserved. Nothing major happened after that. The child moved on quickly, probably almost immediately. I didn’t. Because I heard it. That edge. The one that comes when I have been too needed for too long and my body starts sending the bill through my tone before my mind gets a chance to stop it. That may be one of the hardest parts of parenthood for me. Not the big impossible moments. The little seconds where my depletion leaks out in a voice I would not choose if I had more room. I apologised. I meant it. And I still carried the shame of those three seconds well into the night.