We had another 5 o clock wake up this morning. I blearily bought D into bed with me (bed consists of mattress on the floor, given that our room is only half plastered and is covered in an inch of aged dust). However, D was having none of it. Let me see now, we had 1) the game of pulling mummy's nose, then 2) the game of climbing on mummy and crying because he couldn't quite stand up on me, then 3) the truly hilarious game of crawling over to the gap between the mattress and the wall and getting his buttocks wedged in it, then crying again. This particular game was repeated at least 5 times until I gave up and got up.
Ugh. I feel like someone has filled up my brain with smoke and cotton wool.
We then had all the fun and games of trying to get D to have a nap. About 7:30am, predictably, he was tired. Not surprising really, given that he'd been quite literally bouncing off the walls like some sort of baby-shaped laser beam, for two and a half hours.
But for D to go to sleep, is obviously tantamount to him admitting defeat. He gets this resolute look to his face - his eyes go flinty with determination, his lips get all thin and straight and he gives me this look as if to say; 'not on my watch, woman.' We had floods of tears every time the cot was even in sight. Then we had more floods of tears when placed in the cot. Then more floods of tears as he manfully pulled himself up to a standing position. Seriously, it was like a wounded soldier on the battlefields, weary, bleary, but still ready for the fight. Sadly, mama was not. So nap time did not occur until, oh, about five minutes ago.
I feel like I've already done a full day's work. And its 9am. God, that is depressing. Still, at least now I am enjoying one of those rare moments of sipping a hot chocolate (its cooled down outside sufficiently enough for me to be back on the hot drinks...) and writing this.
Hubbie is currently in Liverpool, and I am very worried about how much he is working. He was up until 1am last night, struggling to meet this company's insatiable demands - he's worked every evening this last week, he's not home until late tonight, then they expect him to go to London tomorrow. He is starting to look burnt out. I sometimes wonder to myself...is it worth it? I always said to him all along, we could manage with less well paid jobs, we could just get a smaller house and postpone the production of a child number two (god, two of them not sleeping, I'm not sure I'd be able to cope!) I'm not sure any job is worth becoming an exhausted little husk over.
Anyway, back to work, I've got approximately ten minutes before D stirs again, ready for round two...
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