I’m not actually sick. But I feel in desperate need of a sick day or twenty. Sigh. Exhausted doesn’t even cover it! Not by half!

DB2 has transformed, seemingly overnight, from happy, smiley frothy mouthed little bundle of gorgeousness, to perpetually cross and ill tempered Lego headed baby. OH has written a song (designed to be chanted over and over, ironically to pacify DB2), which goes along the lines of;

When I’m in the car
Wah wah wah.
When I’m having a bath
Wah wah wah.
When it’s time for bedtime
Wah wah wah.
When mummy is working
Wah wah wah.
When daddy is sleeping
I wah wah
When the temperature is slightly too cold
Wah wah wah.
When the light is slightly bright
Wah wah wah.
When mummy coughs in an annoying way
Wah wah wah.

(and so on)

It really is getting increasingly more accurate. Seemingly every little thing sends him off into another wild torrent of irate and rage fuelled bellowing. Saturday night was an absolute farce as OH and I attempted to settle him, only to have him reawaken in a furious temper about twenty minutes later. How do babies manage to do that, to wait until the very moment that you manage to nod off again before unleashing a horrid screech designed solely to shatter the nerves and fill you with an irresistible impulse to swear loudly at your offspring.

Since then, we’ve had a full two days pretty much filled solid with DB2 complaining. Yesterday, as a special treat, and what I naively thought would be a ‘nice idea’, we used our Tesco club card vouchers to go to Prezzo for lunch. From the moment we entered the restaurant and were placed directly adjacent to a table of severe looking OAPs (the worst kinds of people for relentless child-hating generally) I knew we weren’t on to a winner.

Surprisingly, after an initially bad start (moaning loudly and continually about where his garlic bread was, honestly, he was worse than the OAPs!) DB1 was hugely well behaved. Was it the promise of chocolate ice cream for afters? Possibly. Generally DB1 is a little boy motivated by clever use of bribery. But regardless, he was phenomenally excellently well behaved and even the OAPs faces were looking noticeably less sour as the meal went on.

DB2 was, however, on fine shrieking form. I actually don’t think he stopped the entire time we were in there. Hence OH and I didn’t get to utter one word to each other throughout the whole meal, as one of us was always outside, pacing DB2 as he warbled lustily on and on, his little chubby faced all squinched up like a cross cartoon jacket potato.

And the fine vocal performance has continued into today. When I’m having my nappy done, wah wah wah. When I’m not being looked at, wah wah wah. When I’m inch off where I want to be sitting, wah wah wah. When I’m given the wrong toy, wah wah wah. When I’m being tickled for two seconds longer than I wanted to be, wah wah wah. When mummy dares try to put me to sleep without feeding me beforehand WAH, WAH WAAAH! (that’s a particularly big ‘wah’ situation.)

Hence poor DB1 got dragged out into the cold today as we desperately ploughed out to try to give the poor screamer a bit of sleep. And of course, while he was asleep, DB1 took over. When mummy won’t buy me a toy. Wah wah wah. When mummy won’t let me touch things on the shelves. Wah wah wah. When mummy gets cross because I jumped on her toes (incidentally still in flip flops). Wah wah wah.

Do you know what? I think it is mummy’s turn to do a bit of wah wah wahing of her own. When mummy is deprived sleep, wah wah wah. When mummy fancies a hot chocolate, but, after making one, never gets to drink it. Wah wah wah. When mummy tries to do work, but ends up playing with dinosaur toys instead. Wah wah wah. When mummy can’t simply knock out the hard spirits and get quietly drunk in a corner somewhere. Wah wah wah. Ha ha!

Seriously. Sign me off sick. I’m struggling to stay sane. Does that count as an illness?

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