So tired. So so very tired.
I wonder how long it is possible to function on less than 4 hours sleep a night? Apparently Margaret Thatcher used to survive on less, though I’m not sure I’d particularly want to use her as a role model. I’ve noticed a worrying inability to actually do simple tasks now. Such as talking. Or walking. Oh please please please, let this sudden hatred of sleep in DB2 be a short lived phase? And not an epic two month long nightmare like DB1 was…
I took the boys to the very 21st century style named ‘iPlay’ today. To all those uninitiated to the joys of the traditional ‘playbarn’, I’d like you to picture this in your mind. A garish cacophony of neon plastic and worryingly angular scaffolding, covered with padding that wouldn’t look out of place in a mental institution for the criminally insane. Picture a confusing and bewildering mass of slides, ball pools and strange rocking, swinging objects that don’t seem to have any purpose as such, apart from to be yanked apart by bellowing toddlers. Then add to this a confusing swarm of little people, almost like a cloud of noisy locusts, or even a tribe of dwarf neanderthals, milling around, screeching at the top of their tiny lungs and making your head feel like it might actually burst with horrified adult panic at being trapped in such a place. Christ, pity the bastards that have to actually work there, day in, day out. No wonder they all look so pissed off all the time.
Anyway, this was our location for the morning. Thankfully, a good friend of mine and her son had joined us, so together, her son and DB1 set about ripping one another to shreds, screaming in each others faces, then chortling with great gusto as though nothing had happened. Whilst good friend and I cowered in the corner, nursing hot drinks and trying not to notice the offspring as they gayly leapt around with monstrously dangerous abandon.
My nerves were already fairly shredded by 11am (after having had to rescue countless toys that DB1 had pinched off other, wailing toddlers and babies), but then DB2 decided to add to it by shrieking his head off for a full forty five minutes. Was he tired? Very much so. Was he going to give in to it and sleep? No. Not a sodding chance.
Lunch (baked beans on toast…but believe it or not, the highlight of my week) was consumed whilst standing, bouncing DB2 on my shoulder. (Amusingly enough, I located two dried baked beans In the folds of his neck about three hours later. Honestly.) Whilst DB2 gnawed and drooled down my back. I’m fairly sure he was sick down it as well, but in my sleep deprived stupor, I didn’t bother to actually check. The stale milk smell emanating from my jumper is a bit of a give away though.
The afternoon was then the usual hilarious joke of attempting to do work whilst Danny fed me plastic food (though I was getting to the point of actually not being able to physically tolerate another plastic croissant or frankfurter being wedged between my lips. Especially as they’d all been in DB1s gob first, which meant they were all covered with smelly toddler dribble.)
I must confess to informing DB1 that I ‘had to go to the kitchen to do some tidying’, when in fact, I snuck in there to woof down a massive chocolate brownie. It wasn’t even that I actually wanted it, I was just childishly enjoying the fact that DB1 didn’t have a clue I was eating it. Yes, it has come to that. Getting my kicks from concealing the consumption of cake products from my innocent first born. Dreadful, isn’t it.
Ah, the second born has awoken again. Like a cute Kraken from the ocean. All dribble and indignant glaring. Adieu people. X