'It's no fun being a kid,' wailed The Bombshell. 'It's better being an adult cos then you get to do what you want.'
She stormed off to the playroom (yes, you read that correctly) and started to do some drawings. Probably something like Mummy getting run over by a cement mixer, or sat on by a very large troll.
I stared after her, then looked around the room.
In front of me, her lunchbox which I was filling with healthy and tasty treats.
There was a pair of (size 3) undies on the floor, the final showdown by the Curly Mop and her declaration she would "never EVER wear knickers EVERRRRRRRR".
There was a pile of toast crusts and crumbs under the table, and the little brush and pan which I had abandoned halfway through sweeping when Baldy fell out the back door onto the paving and needed to be rescued.
A pile of bills and official letters from official places stacked up to be paid, including a couple which would inevitably mean at least 30 minutes on hold to Centrelink.
There were so many dirty dishes in the sink, I could no longer see out the (dirty) window. I had started using plastic baby spoons to make the coffee because I still hadn't unloaded the dishwasher from two days before.
By the front door, a stack of nappy bags waiting to be tossed out. Baskets of washing to be put away. Books from school to be covered in contact. The shopping list which needed to be attended to, as did the dead cockroach under the couch.
You get the point. I know you get the point because (mostly) you're Mums like me.
Bombshell wouldn't get the point, so I didn't even bother trying.
The sad thing is, by the time she is old enough to truly understand that being a grown-up isn't all chosing what to watch on TV, bossing other people around, and eating as much chocolate as you want (which, admittedly is one of the best things about being an adult), she will be too old to appreciate how cool it is being a kid.