Time for bed.
This weekend I have been tired. Tired of being tired. Tired of Charlotte being tired. Tired of being pulled in different directions. Tired of making other people happy. Tired of listening to other peoples suggestions of how to not be tired. Just fucking tired.
I have so many things going on in my life at the minute and I don’t feel like I have control of any of it. I am not in control of Charlotte’s behaviour or sleeping patterns which, in turn, makes it very difficult for me to control my behaviour towards her and I hate the fact that I am constantly having to shout at her to do anything, so in turn she will shout or lash out at me. I hate the parent I am being at the moment but I can’t see the wood for the trees. I keep reading ‘positive parenting’ articles and, although I know all the theory, I can’t get to the calm level I need to put it into practice.
I have also realised whilst Charlotte eventually fell asleep on me at 10.30pm last night that when I return to work full time, nursery will see my daughter for 45 hours in the week and I will see her for roughly 37. 15 (ish) of these being before and after nursery which will be a rush of feeding, dressing, undressing, cleaning and other necessities. She will also no doubt be tired and grumpy for most if these if we carry on as we are. All my maternal instincts are crying out ‘Stop the madness!’ Yes, I know being at nursery won’t harm her. I know a consistent routine may help our sleeping situation but I also know that I don’t want to see her less than she sees her key worker. That’s not the way this whole parenting thing should be done. That’s not the way I want to do it.
Lots of well meaning people keep suggesting ways of making my situation better but they all involve time I don’t have, money I don’t have or motivation which is seriously lacking at the moment.
I am not depressed… I have been there and that’s not where I am now (thank goodness)…but I am stressed. I am up to my eyeballs, panic attacks stressed and something has to give. I just can’t work out what I can let go of without the rest of the carefully stacked blocks falling down. How the hell do other mums and dads do this? Or are we all just one step away from a nervous breakdown?