I dedicate this one to the Kid and I write in a bid, to offer a reason for my tired old eyes, to explain why, I’m half asleep, most of the time. To give cause to my zombie Mum like state, to help me come to terms with my nightly fate. To highlight to everyone the things I do wrong, to question myself as a parent and sing the Mum-guilt song. To have everyone think I picked the hard way and to simply get through, my haze filled days.
Sleep, it’s one of those things, if I get eight hours, I feel like a king, but don’t let that fool you, that’s not been the case, since the First Born arrived and took over the place. But in those ‘once upon a time’ good old, early days, when everything that followed was a bliss filled haze, now I sit and I laugh, oh, how I had myself fooled, this Kid certainly has Mum home schooled.
You see I’m starting to think (as I’m pushed to the brink), perhaps number three will simply be my biggest test, after all isn’t the last saved to be best? Perhaps his goal, his aim, if you please, is to simply bring his poor old sleep deprived Mum to her knees. Maybe he know’s what he’s doing, maybe it’s all a big test, maybe those parents who claim their kids sleep, just say it in jest. Maybe this is this norm, maybe he’s got big plans, maybe one night he’ll surprise me and show me he can. Whatever it is, whatever it may be, all I know is what I used to believe, long ago when I though it was bad, but now I realise, as I hang my head low, ‘blinkin’ ‘eck, what did I flippin’ know’!
My sleep deprived eyes have a permanent haze and my poor sleep deprived mind is all in a daze. When the clock ticks and the walls start to creek, when I realise in the silence the bathroom tap must leak, when I’m so delirious and wobbly, when I struggle to move, when my feet are so cold my toes turn blue. With a defeated huff, I need to simply accept, it’s another day where I’ll look like a scruff, because I haven’t slept.
It’s not forever I say, he’ll find his own way, settle into routine and I won’t need to stay. He’ll sleep through the night, he’ll wake with the dawn, he won’t wake the whole house until at least the morn. Soon he won’t need a drink – every two blinkin’ minutes, he won’t need to sleep with Thomas trains and hide his glow sticks. He’ll cuddle his teddy and drift off with a yawn and soon I’ll get to sleep through the dark and wake with the dawn.
But who am I kidding, I’ve got years of this shit, now’s the time to suck it up and develop some grit. To convince myself that I can go on and on, it’s OK to keep going until I’m almost gone. Just take a deep breath, over and over again, get on with the day, as they blend all the same. You see the positive side of this Covid stuff is how the masks hide the tiredness and the nightly gruff. It’s all OK, I’ll just keep telling myself, it’s why they invented endless tea for Mum’s and empty bottles lines my shelves.
But I’m only normal, I need some damn sleep, is that so much to ask! I often cry from my heap. I can’t go on, I can’t function this way, how do Mum’s keep on going and get through each day? I’m obviously bad at my job, I can’t get a break, this Mum guilt is real and it’s my sleep that’s at stake. Not even Google can save me, this Kid’s not the norm, he grew up in lockdown, the making of our own little storm.
Sometimes I sit and give a weary old sigh, watching this Kid as he (finally) snores in the crazy position he lies. Slowly and steadily I roll up to a stand as my weary old brain starts to make it’s big escape plan. While the hour is bleak and with dried tears on my cheek, it’s time to shuffle out of the room and start dodging the creaks. I sneak to the door and creep up the stairs, my bed calls my name and my weary bones start to wear. As 6 am rolls around once again, it’s only now he decides to rest his sweet little brain. You see a jet could land, a bomb could go off, if I was really brave, I could probably risk a cough. But nothing will wake him, he’s off to dreamland, just a shame he couldn’t have done this all through the night, as planned.
