I look back now at the pre baby years and laugh, laugh and kind of want to cry at the same time, a lot. I remember thinking I was so tired. I stayed in bed at the weekends sometimes until lunchtime. I deserved that rest, I had worked hard all week in the office and needed rest.
Nothing, nothing can prepare you for the tiredness being a parent can bring. As I write this I've been up nearly 22 hours with two very short naps luckily taken in the middle somewhere. Baby is up for her feed, miraculously her first tonight but her brother has just mucked around for near on six hours and still refuses to sleep. You wouldn't believe the sounds coming out of my husbands face either, it's like a slightly noisier fighter jet flying around the house. To be fair he is exhausted too so I'm glad he's sleeping.
Four years of broken sleep is bad enough, but the last twelve lovely months have been ridiculous. Some nights I have seen every hour on the clock. Even if they are asleep - I'm not, the cats are fighting outside or some selfish idiot decides tonight's the night for a loud conversation about monkeys outside my bedroom window. I could kill.
I'm so tired the days and nights are rolling into one big ball of I don't know what. I hurt all over and I can hardly get logical words out my mouth in the right order. You may need to Google translate this post in fact. Does it translate yawn talking?
I can't believe for all those years I thought I was tired. That was not tired. THIS is tired. All be it an extreme 'eyes wanting to bleed, tears flowing on the sound of the alarm every morning, needing a day off from life' tired.
I know it's not forever and I love the extra cuddles but my body is saying no!
Yawn.
Thanks for reading,
Wafflemama
