A Perfect Circle

Last night was terrible. Even by my spectacularly low standards it was horrible. I would start to drift towards sleep in that no-mans land between and he'd wake up. I'd feed him and he would go back to sleep. I would get back in bed, start drifting towards sleep, rinse repeat. It was honestly the worst night of my parenting career. Today it was disgustingly hot and I was sleep deprived out the wazoo. Shrieking like a harpy at my children, swearing, smacking once or twice. Being insanely obsessed with cleaning the lounge room.

I basically snapped my sanity with an audible pop. And I hated it. Hated hearing the shrill tone to my voice. Hated smacking the girls. Was embarrassed to hear the swearing. Embarrassed to know that the neighbours could hear. Every time I'd try and retreat the kids would follow, I was seriously close to locking myself in the bathroom and screaming.

The Possum was so hot and miserable he wouldn't sleep, but wanted to cling to me in a damp, sweaty, grumpy ball. Bingley left for work at 6:30am. The Elfling and Monkey left a trail of detritus in their wake as they went through rooms I'd just cleaned in my manic state and "rearranged" them.

And so Bingley came home at noon to a deranged wife and 3 grumpy, tired and thoroughly fed up kids. Such is the power of having another adult to help though that immediately the kids calmed down, The Possum went to sleep and after mopping the girls room I was able to just take a cold shower without worrying that they were playing with the stove. Best of all I also got to collapse on the bed and sleep like the dead for an hour.

I woke up in the late afternoon with my hair curling damply all over my sweaty forehead with the fan valiantly beating the humid air off me and felt like I could cope again. Put one foot in front of the other. Apologised to the girls for my grumpiness and poor behaviour and managed to be cheerful and optimistic and human again.

I hope he sleeps tonight. This shit is killing me.