13 February 2013

I am the walking dead and all because of a fart

With babies comes changes to your sleep patterns. I get that.  Its part of it.  No point complaining, just get on with it.

But at this very moment in time, when I spent most of the night, literally hours of the period between midnight and dawn, walking up and down patting my youngest daughter's back- singing to her, jiggling, cooing, whispering sweet nothings into her soft hair, cuddling in positions worthy of yoga names- desperately trying to get her to settle, only to have her let off the world's largest, most explosive fart at 6am and fall into a deep sleep - I'm feeling that babies are cheating us.

I am sleep deprived because she needed to fart.  This is not something I could call my boss and get a day off for you know.  Generally bosses are only okay about days off when your child has some kind of dramatic disease that they are afeared of catching themselves.

And I could think of nothing contagious about farting.

And as I head into work, head befuddled, joints aching, eyes screaming with the effort of staying open, she's gone off to childcare where she will get more cuddles, be put down to sleep and have people adore her for the simple fact of her existence.  Which is obviously why we love our childcare centre but I want to lie on the floor and scream "No fair!!!  I did all the bloody work why can't I lie down and sleep and have people pat me on the back.  All she did was FART."

But instead, I'll accept people's observations that I look like shit and I'll refrain from punching people.

I'm all adult some days.  All adult.