Fix it.

When my Big Boy stacks his motorbike and hurts himself, I can give him cuddles and bandaids and sympathy and I can fix it.

When my Big Girl is overtired and overwhelmed, I can lie in bed with her and draw butterflies on her face until she falls asleep. I can fix it.

When Little Miss Thing throws yet another tantrum because she is nearly two, I can sympathize and be there to calm and soothe her afterwards. I can fix it.

When my Little Mate wakes eight times a night, when he loses the plot trying to make me understand him, when he is overwhelmed by the world, when he lashes out at other people, when things do not go as fits his rigid schedules, when I cannot magic his beloved Nanna out of thin air... I can not fix it.

And some days I really wish I could.

Not him. He does not need fixing.

But sometimes maybe the world does.