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“Nugget,” he demanded.

“Don’t cry, Daddy.” Marmaduke. My gorgeous little son in nothing but a hoodie, an oversized nappy and ketchup.

I get it, Marmie. I do.This had all been too much, for anyone. And I cried. Cried for the son who was so anxious about everything that he couldn’t control his bladder. I understood because I was in that same boat. Minus the nappy. For my little baby son who had no idea who I was. And for my daughter who handed me a tissue, then got out of the car and came around to the back door, climbed in and gave me the biggest hug.

I cried. Because it was all too much, too hard, and completely overwhelming.

“She did a number on you, didn’t she?” my daughter said. “I know, because she’s just the way she is. She’s not all bad, Dad. She tries, really hard. But nobody can do this lifething on their own, not even me. Which is why we needed to come back here. You see that, don’t you? And we’re not all bad either. Promise.”

“I love you,” I croaked out between sobs. Oh God. What was I like?

“You’re okay, Dad.” My daughter laughed. “Just get us home and let us settle in. I can’t wait to have a shower and do my hair. I look like a hobo.”

“You’re beautiful,” I blubbered. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about all this.”

“Nugget,” Phinneas said. I handed him one.

“I love you,” I told him, no doubt looking like an overgrown alien myself, red and tear-stained and overemotional.

“Por favor,” my baby said, looking a little unsure. “Nugget.”

“Oh, darling.” I grabbed his little hand and pressed it to my mouth.

Which, of course, made him burst into tears.

“Dad, I need the toilet.”

Fabulous.

“I’ll take him,” Constance said. “And I’ll get a sick bag too, because Phinney is starting to look a little green.”

Life. What the hell, universe? Another tissue appeared in front of me, which I promptly used to blow my nose.

What a fucking day.

“I love you,” Stewart said quietly, reaching out and grabbing my hand. “It will be fine, all of this. Tell me what you need, and I will help you. You’re not in this on your own. And if I can just start by saying how much I appreciate your children… Constance is fabulous. And I think Marmaduke is a bloody star. This little one here, though?”

“Yes?” I croaked as Stewart suddenly burst through the gap in the front seats, more tissues at the ready.

“We need to get home,” he said, coughing softly as my baby boy covered him in regurgitated processed fast food.

“Agree,” I breathed out.

Too much. Too soon. But then I laughed and got out of the car and yes.

My life. I think I loved it. Every little part of it. Even this. This…

Madness.

I loved it a little more a few hours later when I was sitting on the floor, watching my youngest refuse to come anywhere near me. It hurt, but I understood. I more than understood because it had been so long since I’d been around them that I didn’t even know Constance anymore, let alone Marmaduke, who’d fallen asleep on the sofa.

I had no blankets to cover him with and couldn’t leave Phinneas alone, having no idea what he’d do. I needed to put some stair gates up so he couldn’t escape out the front door. We had some, somewhere. Or maybe I’d thrown them out. Had I?

“He doesn’t know who he belongs to,” my daughter said, coming through the door in pyjamas with her hair wrapped in a towel.

How had she become so grown up?

“He belongs with us,” I said, feeling weird.