I had a dreadful night’s sleep last night. I was ill, my stomach churning, the baby kicking, I don’t think I ever slept deeply and I was wide awake every hour or so checking the time. As a result, of course, I’m quite tired today.
I deal with toddler stuff, including tantrums, quite well when I’m not tired. It’s like water off a duck’s back. What do I care if she screams and cries? My foot remains down, my decision made.
But when I’m tired, sometimes, it all just seems too much. Why must I listen to this drivel? Why won’t she just take a nap? I want a nap, why doesn’t she?
It is tempting, right now, as I listen to her cry from the next room, to break down into tears. It might be nice. It might make me feel better, at least temporarily. But heck, crying involves so much cleaning up, all that water and snot, blowing the nose, and trying to keep it all off the keyboard… it might actually be easier to adopt my usual who-cares attitude.
It’s times like this that I realise life is really what you make it, what you choose. I could choose to be a drama queen and break down, but ultimately I chose to be a mother, so here I am typing serenely.
But I still wish she’d shut the hell up and sleep!