Another Hellish night courtesy of The Baby. Actually I probably need to come up with a new name for her, given that she’s nearly 17 months old. She’s a phenomenon.
I’m writing this at 6.30am. So far this morning I’ve dealt with two poos. Two full changes of pjs. Made two cups of milk. Administered calpol and cough mixture. Had a massive go at Him about his amazing capacity to slip into a coma whenever there’s a toddler on the prowl….
He used to do this when I was feeding our babies in the night. His ability to slumber on through a bleating newborn never failed to amaze. He’d roll over first thing and say what a good night we’d had. How well the baby had done. One look at my fatigue deathmask and practically bleeding swollen eyes quickly told him otherwise.
You just don’t like getting up, He tells me. This is true. I hate mornings. I hate feeling sick with fatigue as they rise, batteries charged with a full 12 hours sleep. I hate scraping weetabix off the table. I hate the smell of boiled eggs and getting the shell under my fingernails. I hate picking up Cheerios from underneath the table. I am officially morose until 9am.
Why do they have to be so freaking jolly ffs?? Full of beans and excitement for the day ahead. Those perky kids tv presenters don’t help my mood either, especially on Channel 5. If that blond dancing bloke ever meets a sticky end live on air, then I fear I may be prime suspect 😉
After many many cups of tea, and my own weight in Rolo cookies, I finally perk up enough to cook tea. A bit of chorizo dry fried with onion and garlic. Add some lamb which has been coated in seasoned flour and brown. Crumble over a lamb stock cube and a shake of paprika. I add in some chopped carrots and red pepper, a tin of tomatoes and a slug of super annuated wine which somehow hasn’t been necked by me in a fit of tea time pique. Bring to the boil, then simmer on low for an hour or more. Towards the end I add in a tin of rinsed butter beans. All served with some baby roasties.
A restorative supper for exhausted old me. He’s off to the pub tonight to watch the footie. Under normal circumstances I would have volunteered to ‘do the double’ and get up tomorrow too. He was particularly lazy last night…I may relent, just don’t tell him that will you?