I’d be a parent who raises my voice when my child squirts juice over her new coat, who tuts at the third request in an hour to use the toilet, who sighs loudly when a scooter runs over my bag, who offers chocolate bribes ‘if you’ll just stop whining for two minutes’ or who mutters ‘fuck’ not so under my breath as I’m hurrying us out the front door at ten to nine.  Because amongst the many happy times and small daily joys, being a parent is so much harder than I could ever have imagined.