From the moment of birth, Jone needed me but in a disconcerting way, very different from anything I had imagined.See that your baby does not need you.

Olivia, the great one, was born in Manhattan and lived there for her first few months. Then, we moved to Chicago and Frida was born there. But they have no memories of New York. The character of Burricorn originates from a series of comic strips I created in 2010 when I lived in New York. It was titled Another day at work and told the story of a donkey who worked disguised as a unicorn. It tried to reflect the lives of people who move to that city with the dream of dedicating themselves to the world of entertainment and, to achieve it, they have to play a role.Your daughters appear in the comic.

We decided to have a creature without thinking too much about it. And thank goodness, because I tend to overthink things. We were excited and we knew it would never be the perfect time. I didn't even consider the arguments against it. I had no idea where I was getting myself into and the journey has been amazing.Six months after the birth, we were confined.

Watching a child is hypnotic. You look at them closely and often see things in them that you recognize yourself in. And when you see something you don't recognize, you marvel, thinking where they must have gotten it from. One day, your young son told you: "Death has entered me and I don't know what's wrong with me, but today it's not leaving me."

Since the first edition of l'Embassa't there have been families with children, because we have always ensured that the space was safe, prioritizing comfort and with friendly proposals. The night schedule, obviously, is no longer for children. But for more than 10 years we organized the Petit Embassa’t.Don't do it anymore...

You are often asked questions that throw you off balance. I remember we were at a country house that we shared with friends and the little one was talking to some slightly older creatures who were listening to her with their mouths agape. When we asked her what they were talking about, she said: “Mom, isn’t it true that from the vagina comes discharge, blood, life, and death?”. It was a very powerful moment, and at the same time a precious opportunity to talk about it naturally. Being a mother is a very lively job, constantly transforming. It is beautiful, but also demanding, because it involves accompanying without controlling, listening, and knowing when to give space.What do you find burdensome?

This very day, in a second, Guillem has disappeared. What are you saying!

I remember going shopping for clothes with my mother who had that habit of everything having to match, everything having to go together. There was that obsession with making sure any piece you bought matched the clothes you already had.This is no longer the case with your daughters. Do you have many arguments about clothes?

Today we will have meatballs with potatoes, which with the basics I have in the freezer are quick to make and ideal for days, like today, when we have a lot to do before lunch.Will the girls give you a hand?

The two siblings in the play, Ernest and Sandra, have opposing memories of their dying father, Climent. In my case, the memory is more multifaceted. I see my father's good sides and also the bad ones, which are not about authoritarianism, but about a certain affective and emotional neglect. One of those men from an era when it was thought that men don't cry, who only knew how to communicate with their children by talking about FC Barcelona. There is a lot of reflection on fatherhood, from many aspects.At the farmhouse, however, strange things happen.

At three months old, Pau was rolling over, and by nine months he was already walking. As a baby, he was a chatterbox. We read together a lot, and this, in addition to reinforcing his literacy development, also strengthened our bond, his curiosity, and his imagination. He would run out of the house, his eyes always sparkling.

Having children brought back unresolved wounds from our own childhood. This allowed me to reconnect with the child I once was, reclaim her, and learn to nurture her. I also had the opportunity to understand my own parents. Motherhood places us all in a vulnerable position, but at the same time, it bestows upon us a wisdom that is difficult to find elsewhere. Raising children confronts us with our own shortcomings. During my son's early years, I recovered many memories of when I was a child caring for a younger sibling.

Family is the most important thing we have. Especially our immediate family, the people you live with and are closest to. The unconditional support. Wife, parents, siblings... grandparents.

Children have the wonderful ability to force you to confront your fears, your ghosts, your wounds. Often they don't do it intentionally because they don't know your past, but with a look, a tone of voice, a word, or a gesture, they transport you to a moment you had half-buried.

My son has been creating instrumental music on the computer for a year now. It's a quantum leap compared to when I started. At 12, he's doing things I was doing when I was almost 30. The evolution is incredible. He's already listened to a lot of groundbreaking music. He pays close attention to detail, works quickly and intuitively, and focuses on choosing the right sounds to make the song sound interesting. He doesn't consider mixing as a separate element; he does it all at once. He sees it as a whole.

I have an emotional connection to the Llobregat Delta because I'm from El Prat. I lived there for over twenty years. The beach that's part of the delta has always been an oasis of peace for me. I used to go there to play as a child with my father, back when swimming was forbidden and there was never anyone there. During my teenage and early teens, I went there to reflect while watching the waves, with my partner or friends. It was a paradise because no one from outside knew about it. Now I go with my son.

The first suicide attempt was when he was 12. Félix took all the pills he found in the top drawer of the dresser. This event, inexplicable to a mother, haunted me for a year. It wouldn't let me live. Exactly one year later, I began to write about this episode because I felt that writing would help me understand why it had all happened.

Being a parent is a wonderful experience, but also a bewildering one. I have two children, and although I try to give them the best of myself, I often feel that I'm not raising them with the same confidence and ease that my parents had when they raised me. They seemed to know exactly how to do it: what limits to set, what freedoms to give, what values ​​to instill. I, on the other hand, have many more doubts.

You truly become an adult when your first child is born. But I've discovered there's another boundary you cross, when your children no longer need you as much. Then you become a kind of supervisor or firefighter, someone they call on in an emergency. I'm realizing now that my daughter is almost nineteen and already in university, and my youngest son is almost fourteen and practically halfway through secondary school.

I lived in Brussels for three years. Then, because of the pandemic, I moved to Antwerp. I still go to Brussels for work, but it's a strange city where I never really felt at home. I like cities where you can cycle everywhere and that have a friendly atmosphere. Brussels has the added problem that many people are just passing through, which makes it difficult to form connections.