Fugue

These days… they’re getting harder. I’m getting worn out. I’m getting angrier. Kids. They’re such hard work. 

I find the joy. I find it a hundred times a day. Every morning I get up and summon up all my enthusiasm. And every night I end the day a quivering wreck, utterly spent and entirely out of fucks. 

We’re going through a rough patch. Smushface is refusing to go to sleep at night. Tonight it was 11.10pm when she was finally asleep! Nookie is going through a stubborn phase and there’s often no talking her around. She is having night terrors some nights and keeping me up. Smushface has started waking repeatedly through the night. 

Gradually they’re wearing me down. I’m starting to get that worn out mum look… the one where you haven’t showered or brushed your hair in days, your pyjamas are permanently covered in chocolate (I don’t usually manage to wear clothes anymore), and you let the baby play in the dog water bowl just so she’ll stop shrieking.

In the space of ten minutes today I managed to burn melted chocolate that I was making for Nookie, put the second lot where Smushface could reach it, and consequently she pulled the bowl off the sofa and smashed it – melted chocolate all over the carpet, and be vomitted over. By the vomiting bit I was so over it I just laughed and stripped us both naked in the kitchen. Fuck it. 

But they’re asleep now. Somehow. It took a mammoth tag team effort from myself and Hedgehog. I did some shouting and lots of protesting. Smushface did lots of screaming. Nookie backed down from an argument for once, seeming to recognise how stressed I was (bless her). They’re asleep. I can sleep. Sleep… and do it all again tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. 

I love them. I love them more than life. They’re my whole world. But fuck me they’re hard work!

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