It’s 8:16am and I’m already eating a bite size snickers facing the cool glow of the fridge door. I’m feeling overwhelmed and have had a shouty moment at the kids. I’m trying to let Hubby have a lie in, like he needs, but I also desperately want to wake him for some moral support. Whatever I do I think I’ll feel like a failure, even though logically I know that I’m not. If I get him up I’ll feel bad, if I don’t I’ll still feel bad. Awesome odds. Winner winner chicken dinner.
I’ve been up since 4:56am because of an upset Little Red. I think that somehow those four minutes would have made all the difference. Mentally, 5am will always seem better than when the time starts with a four.
I’ve already hung up two loads of washing with another churning away in the machine and a few more piles waiting. Three children on the couch eating snacks and the second film of the day is on the TV. I’m taking five, writing this and simultaneously wondering if I can stretch the girls out until their usual 12pm nap time. Yes, today seems all about numbers.
BUT WHO’S COUNTING?
I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to have words with Little Man and how I’ve juggled the girls. One up, one down, one always crying at my feet. Just over ten and a half hours from now until bedtime and such unknown in between. They say you shouldn’t wish away time, so how do you stop doing that when the day is seemingly off to such a tense start?
Well, if you’re me then you eat a cheeky chocolate and then lock yourself in the bathroom for a two minute sit in peace. Before you exit you look at yourself in the mirror, chin up, shoulders back, give yourself a wink and get back out there to the chaos and cries. I won’t say it completely renews my energy to the full, but it is enough to get me through another hour.