Why does the universe continue to shit on me from a great height?
First pregnancy… then childbirth… then messy-play…. *shudders*
It’s certainly not through lack of complete physical and mental exhaustion I can assure you… I own a toddler. But I just. can’t. sleep.
I know I used to sleep. *stares wistfully off into the distance whilst recalling memories of a former life…*
My pre-baby life contained lie-ins, naps, hangovers you could return to bed for… it was shitting paradise… Pa-Ra-Dise…. But now, the merest snort from WallyBubba across the monitor forces my body to involuntarily leap into a seated position. Following which my mind sustains an hour-long state of ‘just-in-case-awakeness’ (all parents know this torture…) as it analyses all potential scenarios… Is she teething, is she too hot, has she produced a turd the size of a badger’s head again…? Is there any milk left…? Any bottles clean…? Any porridge-free spare pyjamas…? My brain then goes into a state of total melt-down as it ponders the positioning of the elusive Calpol syringe… Fuck.
Some nights there’s no rhyme or reason… I just don’t sleep. I lie awake day-dreaming about nappy price-comparison sites, hoovering, gin… whether I still own a razor… And other such life-affirming glamour… Or perhaps what keeps me awake is the recurring nightmare where a tiny, snotty, bald person bursts out of my vagina and fucks up both my womb and my life… Oh hang on…
How do parents with multiple children not kill themselves… or each other? The hoovering/nappy-price dreams alone are enough to make me consider ending it all most nights… And if I still owned a razor WallyDaddy might have received some more severe snoring-punishment by now… (Joking.) (I’m not.) I’m trying to contemplate another baby but each time I do (at 3am in the morning when I should be sleeping off the day’s gin…), I’m reminded of the first 12-weeks of sleep-deprived delirium where newborn babies consider Mummy’s 45 minute night-time snooze a luxury… Can I do that again with a toddler already in tow…?
I honestly don’t know… But I do know I need some shitting shut-eye before someone gets cut, and I really need to find a more sensible place to keep that bastard Calpol syringe…