Some days the glorious privilege of staying at home and playing with my boy bubbles in my chest, buoying me up throughout the day.
But on other days, when my patience is thin, my to-do list is endless, my exhaustion is extreme, my baby is sickly, my stomach is crampy, my house is filthy, my mind is muddled and my frustration is peaking, I simply feel flat.
And so on days like these, when the joys of motherhood seem like a cruel lie and domestic bliss seems like an impossible ideal I have to remind myself that mothering is simply a job, and that even the most rewarding of jobs can get tiresome.
And with that in mind I set my smile, smooth out my frown-lines, soften the pitch of my voice and strive to make it through to bathtime with as much grace and peace as possible.
Some days, the simple pretence of contentment brings its own kind of calm and others the hours seem to crawl by at a tedious and torturous pace.
But when bathtime's done, the trails of tears have been washed from my little one's face and the cares of the day have disappeared down the plughole, I can slump into the sofa in the knowledge that I made it.
Somehow, through all the tears and tantrums, trials and traumas I've made it through the work day.
And then I can gear myself up for the night shift, when I can do it all over again.