Amelia Adams: 'Motherhood is euphoria and resentment all at once'

I am crouched perilously on the bathroom floor, attempting to swiftly and effectively wipe my toddler's bottom without waking my five-month-old baby, who is attached to one boob and is finally, after hours of failed settling, falling to sleep as she finishes her feed. My neck is twisted, my eyeballs burning from a lack of sleep, my face squished against the cold, hard back of the toilet and I’m furiously silent whispering "If you be quiet I will give you ALL OF THE CHOCOLATE MONEY," in a futile attempt to bribe three-year-old Charlton into a brief, unprecedented bout of silence. 

Predictably, he breaks into rapturous song "La la la la POO!! La la la la BIG FARTS!" and the baby wakes, startling and knocking her little head on the side of the bathroom cupboard. As she screams Charlie cheerfully jumps off the loo and bolts, pants off, bum not yet sufficiently wiped, no doubt headed for my couch/bed/carpet. I sit on the floor and cry, remembering how not so long ago I had dreams of becoming a foreign correspondent.