Yet another blogging mummy

I am sitting here in bed, while my husband is out with our Pickle. This morning, a Moana dress and head band arrived for her and she's been wearing it proudly all day. She looks just beautiful. The past three days we were in Vancouver, and she whined almost half the time she was there that she wanted to go home and that she missed home. That part wasn't enjoyable. A large part of the other half was spent telling me that she didn't want to talk, to eat, to dress, to stop doing this, to start doing that, that she was too hot, too cold, too thirsty or too hungry, but she didn't want to eat, drink, stand in the shade or stand in the sun, and I spent most of the time feeling completely overwhelmed and frustrated, which led to exhaustion and ultimately, a lot of big emotions inside me that couldn't come out. So, a large part of the rest of our time in Vancouver was spent in a state of trying to pacify the beast and feeling out of sorts.  Whenever this kind of thing happen...

Well it certainly was a summer of learning. My pickle grew about 3 feet in two months, and my heart grew at about the same rate. I also found out what I do not want to happen during the summer, which felt like it lasted 2-3 years. I don't want to get to the end of the school year and dread the summer starting, but I am already dreading it. And this one hasn't even ended yet.  Pickle was challenging, and I found the whole summer to be more exhausting and stressful than any other time during her life. I guess every parent goes through this, especially in the summers, but I think the first summer is probably the hardest. So, with that logic, surely it can only get better next time?  I had stopped drinking completely, from Christmas to June essentially, and in the summer, all that went out the window. I started drinking heavily again, stopped exercising, as I was with Pickle all day every day, and had no time to exercise, and basically I had absolutely no time to myself whatsoever...

It's Thursday. Which means that wherever you go, people have that Thursday look about them. Wednesday's people are much less Thursday than Thursday's people. Everyone just looks very Thursday. Today I feel very, very Thursday. Last night I did not sleep, not because, for once, my gloriously adorable pickle woke me up because of bad dreams, or that she needed the loo, or that she was wiggling beside me in her sleep, but because every full breath that my gorgeous husband took throughout the night was swaddled in an ear splitting snore. I know tigers that would be jealous of how roary his snores get.  So, today I woke up to my pickle being extremely arguments, and trying a thousand different tactics to get me to agree that she stay in bed, so the morning fighting, which has been almost non existent this week, resumed today. You know when your child, after not sleeping for 2 years, finally sleeps for a night, and you and your partner instantly start manically listing the things...

 On the worst day, it was the last day. If that seems like a Dickensian or Biblical beginning, this story does lend itself to something miraculous.  It truly was the best of times, and the worst of times, although I did not know it at the time. The day that I decided that I physically and emotionally could not take "it" anymore, whatever it was (some kind of existential matter I expect) was the day that "it" seemed to rear its head for the last time and then subside.  The screaming was so loud that all 4 of our ears rang. They literally rang for hours afterwards. We both had to take post screaming pills.  The resistance was strong, the fighting raged, and the whining never ceased. I had forgotten what peace, and sleep looked or felt like in our house. And I was desperate. Caterpillars, as you know, spend 14 days inside a little chrysallis they have made around themselves. Their bodies and brains are broken down whilst inside, and then reformed to create the body and...

Oh. My. Goodness. This summer has been a completely new experience for me. I absolutely do feel like I just want to lie down all day, all the time. I almost don't know what to write, I'm so tired.  I thought summers were supposed to be fun, casual, carefree? Not a bit of it. With small kids? Summers are ridiculous.  Summer is full of boundaries pushed until they fall over, crafts that never get started or if they get started never get finished, of unreal expectations, endless lost shoes, (to be fair that's every day of the year with kids) sticky fingers, toes, noses, chins, screaming through the "sun scream" application, (both of you), hours packing stuff for the beach and then hours, and, let's face it, usually days to unpack the wet, sandy, dirty clothes, banana peels discovered in the bottom of bags days after the trip, empty juice boxes, daily ice cream demands, fights with wasps, and the complete and total defiance when you ask anything at all to be done,...

 When I was in therapy for losing 4 unborn babies in a row and after I was blessed with my miracle baby, I was talking about how guilty I feel for being completely and utterly in love with my child but also being totally and relentlessly exhausted because of my child. The therapist very wisely said "Is it so inconceivable that the thing that you love most in the world makes you the most tired that you've ever been in your life? I thought that was a very sensible thing to say, and I dropped my feeling of guilt right there and then. About that at least.  What I did not know then, is that the level of tiredness I felt from my child then was laughable compared to what it is now. Maybe I am just a tired person, or maybe my child has the energy and brightness of a thousand suns. Maybe I have always been this way, or maybe it's gotten worse with age. As I look back on these posts, I don't think any of them omits an opportunity to write about how tired I am. Is that weird? A f...

 Last night, after I worked, then picked up Pickle from school, then bought milk at the supermarket, I came into the house, dropped my stuff, and said to my husband "I have to lie down". I went into my room, closed the door, lay down, and watched a Swedish crime drama on Netflix.  About half an hour later, I heard my Pickle call from the other room "Mummy!" I said "No." She said "Why?" and that was the entirety of the conversation. During the night, I slept at 9:30, when she did, after an hour of trying to get her off to sleep. She woke up at 3 am, at which point I went with her to the loo (nightly occurrence, I literally cannot wait until she can do this by herself) then after this she needed water, and she went back to sleep, I did not. I couldn't sleep until 6. Nights are not good. Generally she wakes me up 2-3 times a night.  The other night, she woke up, realised that I was right smack dab in the middle of the deepest part of my REM cycl...