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Posts Tagged ‘parenting’

I’m tired.

It’s been one of those days.  Raining.  Windy.  At home for most of the day.  Kids sick of being cooped up.  Fighting constantly.  Me screeching at them to cut it out constantly.  And to top it all off, the trains are delayed so Ralph is late home.

I’m exhausted.

It’s days like this when I look at these rainbows-and-unicorns blog posts and think… you liar.  You goddamn liar.  Tell it like it really is.  Don’t delude people into believing that children’s farts smell like cookies and everything is all sparkles and magic.

It’s not.

Parenting is a marathon, interspersed by frequent bouts of full-pelt sprinting.  There’s no resting, no stations with water and oranges, nobody at the sidelines waving banners and screaming about how fantabulously awesome you are.  It’s just slog.  And sometimes… yeah, I’ll admit it, I resent it.  I sorely miss my pre-children days, when my time was my own, I wasn’t expected to be a referee, cook, housekeeper and source of all entertainment.  I miss the quiet and I miss not feeling a certain despair that I will never be able to recapture what was, that I’ll spend the rest of my days growling and being treated like a slave and playing 52-Pickup with all the plastic shit I really don’t want in my house but it makes the children happy, so there it is.

I love my children.  I really do.  And I don’t regret them… but there are times when I just feel so exhausted by them that I want to curl up in a ball and cry.  There are times I ask myself truly and honestly, why on God’s green Earth are we having another one?  If I can’t manage the two children I have, how in the hell am I going to cope with three?

I need a rest.

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Grind

I’m finding parenting incredibly draining at the moment.

Bamm-Bamm is teething, or going through some sort of developmental phase, or is in fact the devil incarnate, or possibly all three simultaneously.  The upshot of this is that his sleep habits have gone completely to hell.  Completely. To. Hell.  Before this started, he was finally down to only waking once or twice a night (and yes, I’m aware that once or twice a night is still a lot for a fifteen-month-old, but compared to what he had been like, waking anywhere between five and eight times a night for months and months on end, twice didn’t look so bad to us), but for the past week he’s been up again and again and again and again, refusing to settle 90% of the time unless I feed him, and screeching, “Mummy!  Mummy!  MUMMY!!!!!” at the top of his lungs until I appear.  Ralph just doesn’t cut it most of the time, unless I’m so destroyed that I can’t drag myself out of bed again, and then Bamm-Bamm just has to put up and shut up.  He’s not settling at bedtime anywhere near as well as he was doing, and it’s not entirely attributable to the ridiculous amount of noise that the neighbours’ children make in their backyard between seven and eight in the evening these days.

During the day, he’s grumpy, clingy, miserable, and he wants to nurse constantly.  I’m very pro-breastfeeding, and fed But Why until he self-weaned seven weeks before his third birthday, but I’m getting so freaking sick of the demands for Boobie that I’m seriously considering cutting him off early for my own sanity.  I am not an all-you-can-eat buffet, damnit, I’m a human being and sometimes I don’t want to be touched!

If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear this was a Wonder Week, but he’s too old for the last one and too young for the next one by several weeks.

 

And then there’s But Why, who is so, so very three.  Two was a walk in the bloody park compared to three.  I really don’t like three very much, and I’ve heard that four is worse.  When he’s good, he’s wonderful, brilliant company, hysterically funny and sharp as a tack, but when he’s not…

Tantrums over the tiniest little things.  Dozens every day.  Look at him the wrong way, and he’s wailing on the floor.  Cut his sandwich into triangles when he wanted squares, and the world is falling apart.  Pick out the wrong colour socks, and he’s in hysterics.  Tell his brother off for something, and he’s inconsolable.  His toys have to be just so, and if they’re not, all hell breaks loose.  Nobody is allowed to touch certain toys, which is pretty hard work to explain to his toddler brother, so they’re fighting like feral cats at the moment which absolutely breaks my heart.

 

Oh, well, there you go, as I’ve been typing this, Bamm-Bamm has woken for the second time since he was put to bed… less than a hour ago.  Looks like we’re in for yet another very long, very unpleasant night.

 

I’m so damned tired.  Mentally, physically, emotionally, I’m just drained.  They’re just relentless at the moment.  I don’t know how people with three or four or five kids manage to raise them without losing their minds.

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