I’m tired. Ding dong, it’s groundhog day!
I’m so tired that my feet ache, swollen and heels split from treading the floors all night long. My voice is gone and I vomited this morning from exhaustion. My body hurts. Phoenix has been waking every 2-3 hours for weeks now. He has proper feeds at each wake whilst I sit up, falling asleep. Addison often wakes too; just to say hello or get in bed for a cuddle. My beautiful big 3 year old who adores her baby brother and can’t stand to hear him cry. Spouse and I stumble around each other at midnight, 2am, 3am or 4. His alarm goes off at 6 and it begins again. Our days are full and crazy. Activities, play dates, friends, cooking, cleaning, mountains of facking washing and endless groceries. Somehow we make it through, and they’re both happy and so loved; all that matters really.
Phoenix is such a happy baby despite his nighttime shenanigans. A calm and chilled little version of his Daddy. He loves his solids and settles in his cot easily. And he loves us. Affectionate and cuddly; he is beautiful. He just likes to wake up a lot. It won’t last forever though, and I know this only because we’ve done it before. That knowledge gets me through the long days; that this too shall pass. Hindsight is a wonderful, albeit frustrating thing.
I read articles that tell, no insist that mothers must have time for themselves. They must etch this time out of somewhere. It is very important. I agree. Except it’s really hard to do. Spouse works long hours and during the week when he gets home all I want to do is sit down and talk to him, once the kids are finally in bed. On the weekends I want us to be together, it’s the best part of my week when we’re all together and whilst I like the idea of hours at a salon or mall on my own, I honestly can’t be bothered. Plus I’m breastfeeding and expressing bores me. This weekend I’m seeing a movie with friends and I cannot wait. A few hours out with people I love. That’s me time. And it’s been planned for months. Because that’s what it takes. Spontaneity is not a part of my life, not anymore. I cannot just dash out; me going out is an exercise in military precision. It may be hard to understand but my life is not my own. And if you have kids, you’d understand. Until they’re older and don’t need me so much, I am their world, and they mine. I chose this life and I wouldn’t have it any other way; but sometimes I have to remind myself of this and accept it. Sometimes people say it’s a cop-out; that you should be able to compartmentalise kids; that they should fit in with you, but frankly that’s not my experience.
And I can’t feel bad about it. I won’t. I am too tired and busy to fight these battles. In the end I know the people who matter understand. And I love them for that.