As I turn the pages of our family photo albums, I see countless pictures of our children growing up.
Most of the shots capture moments of happiness or achievement: my daughters are laughing on care-free holidays under azure summer skies, or clutching a medal, holding a certificate, winning a race.
These albums, stored in a memory chest I have created for my family, are a record not just of my children’s happiness and achievements, but my own as well. I love to look at the pictures of us, it’s a sort of proof that I’m living the ‘parental dream’. Or that’s what I thought.
But now I’m being told that my parental happiness is a delusion and that my photo albums – like my parental memory bank – contain only the moments I have chosen to archive.
Mothers and fathers, according to the latest research by top scientists, simply choose to forget – or else don’t admit to – all the other hideous stuff which makes us miserable on an almost daily basis; the tears, the tedium and the tantrums.
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