I used to have a neurotic need to control the environment around me. To make it perfect and untouchable. Everything put in the right spot, eternal. Then I had my kid. I had to learn that so much stuff doesn't matter. Who cares if she draws on the fridge. The living room is a living room not a museum. Of course there's going to be toys and other signs of life everywhere. The dining table will have scuffs and marks from life on it. Accepting this has been liberating.

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