I wasn’t at my best this morning.
In all truth I wouldn’t even know what my best looks like.
I am not the kind of person that says ‘those were my best years’ …maybe they are yet to come or be recognised.
I am more of a ‘just winging it’ kinda gal, I realise lately. I fit in what I can when I can but I do pull my weight and am the get shit done kind of mum. I hold onto that fiercely!
Last night was hell, I was so looking forwards to sleep but you decided an earache was on the schedule to hit at 1am. A monumental earache of epic proportions… the kind you backtrack to when analgesics were given thinking surely they would have kicked in by now??!…
The kind of scenario your groggy delusional self wishes for another half to have the chance to say “your turn”.
Except there’s no one here, excluding the dog who’s pissed you came downstairs to muffle the wails so next door do not have reason to complain.
I rock you, sing, I am a shit singer.
Peppa Pig plays in desperation (my child doesn’t even watch TV).
I begin to clock watch, then count the hours till Daddy has ‘access’ (4-6pm).
FUUUUCCCKKKKKK….that’s like forever, please go to sleep, please someone help her, kill me now, I can’t do this.
Except I do, we drag my arse up around 8am and manage to hit homeschool library group, cook meals, do housework and before I know it it’s dusk.
I sit and watch you over water my plants, water your chubby toes and chuckle, I put your clammy baby curls in a top knot and I take a cute pic. It tells no signs of my struggle.
We made it through another glorious day, the weather was perfect, you were happy and adorable and smart and amazing!
Me, I am fucking tired but BELIEVE me when I kiss you and breathe you in, mumble in my frazzled mind just how grateful I am, I am so so grateful for you x