The parent tax, something that no one ever tells you about, but is very, very real. There are no concrete facts on exactly how much this tax runs on any given day, but it usually hits you hard, right when you don’t need it.

The parent tax.

It is the stomach flu the kids have after an amazing week with their grandparents while you and hubs were having your first holiday in 5 years.  It is you battling jet lag while holding back your little one’s hair while all traces of your relaxing week and smell of romance are replaced by the stench of vomit and diarrhoea.

The parent tax.

The moment when you notice that the preschooler fell asleep way too early, but oh, isn’t he tired. Little doll, let’s let him sleep.  You regret that one decision at 2 o’clock in the morning while your little darling is bouncing on your bed and begging for a sandwich.

The parent tax is what you pay every time you take a moment for yourself.  It is you skipping through fields of bliss only to trip and face plant into the cow patty of parenting.

It is a day on the mountain taking your first skiing and staying for the 2nd glass of apres ski beverage, and getting the call 5 minutes from home that dd2 needs to go to the hospital for a busted lip (if only you had been home sooner) Then it is spending the next week coaxing your little darling to drink with a straw through her stitches/not get her cast wet/please stop scratching at those chicken pox.

The parent tax is an unspoken thing. It is nothing we can ever prove, or define and (trust me) you’ll sound crazy when you do try to tell people about it.

But it is really, very real.

And it can really ruin a day.