I’m tired. I get it. Yes, mostly self inflicted tired. No one else to blame but myself.
Etc etc blah blah.
Not all self inflicted. In fact, probably mostly not. Just a late night two nights ago has added to it. Whether this would have made it better or worse, who knows.
But i”m tired. And its when I’m overtired that things get on top of me.
And I have to be honest.
Because I hate not being honest. So, the truth?
I hate that I have a toddler who wakes up crying every. Single. Morning.
I hate that he has done this Every. Day. Of. His. Life.
(With the possible exception of a total of 3 non-consecutive days in the 2 years and 6 and a half months of his life)
I hate that I never got to lie in my bed and listen to him happily babbling away and giggling. And having a giggle myself.
I hate that his tantrums make me feel so out of control, inadequate and incapable.
I hate the term “it’s just a phase”.
I hate that he has worn both of us down so much that neither of us can rely on the other to be the “calm and rational one”.
I hate that the experts, in all their wisdom and advising, never take into account fatigue when telling you how to do stuff.
(This is about to change, watch this space)
I hate that they never tell you that you’ll feel inadequate, out of control and incapable, especially when you’re tired.
I hate how the feelings of parents never enter the equation when it comes to dealing with kids.
Right now, I hate two year olds. And three year olds.
Right now … I hate. That’s the truth.