Crazy days & mad nights

As parents we spend all our time searching for that one fun filled family outing to suit everyone.

We waste our days searching endlessly only to end up pouring out every toy in the house in the hope of the elusive 30 minutes of solitude.  Having endured and even enjoyed funtime Mommy and Daddy day we loom forward to bedtime.

Daily tasks have become such second nature that without realising it we have suddenly arrived at 7pm and the day has vanished into an abyss of feeding, changing, washing, feeding, changing and more washing up.

Without thought to consequence suggesting bath time becomes another mission impossible. I want bubbles. I want more ducks. Where's my sponge? The soap is in my eyes. Yet we continue because our every moment is consumed by the little people in our lives.

My weekends have arrived at swimming, stage school and long gone are the meandering through boutiques and glazing over a much desired or maybe even needed new handbag or pair of shoes. I get some recovery from an occasional weekend lie in or head space in my new found love of running.

I yearn for those lazy days and crazy nights from an entirely different perspective.

They are all gone for now. Yet I expect when they return I will ache for my crazy days and mad nights.

Yawn

Breath taken, teetering up the stair, I climbed into bed all while avoiding numerous creaking floorboards. 
Its bedtime again.  Hope is suspended in a humid air “will he sleep tonight”.

At the mature age of two we still linger for one nights sleep.  The three year old lady of the house exudes pleasure at bedtime as does her younger brother.  “Please can we go to bed now” they exclaim every night.  They march in procession to their respective rooms, hop into bed and close their eyes.

We revel in the peace that 8.00pm brings.  Eastenders, Corrie, a bit of a good film and a nice cup of tea awaits.  Sometimes a treat accompanies, either a biscuit is located or a cool bottle of beer, medicinal purposes of course.

The clock looms 10.30pm

“Shhh.  Is that him?”      “I don’t know, turn down the telly”       …… Silence ….

You hope that by two they can burp and alleviate their bowels with some detriment and that realistically you are ‘gone from that stage’.  You’re not.

You have, what ‘they’ call, a bit of a colicky baby.  What you really have is a child that most likely from birth has cried, screamed, puked, herniated himself, and has never ever slept.  Unless on that one rare occasion when someone else had him for the night he slept and you were just doing it all wrong.

We have one, a real one.  The reality of it is that when this poor helpless little man has both reflux and some sort of food intolerance that we have yet to figure out.  And because no-one really understands the depths of the despair that a screaming, unsettling infant can bring, (unless you have one already), you are persistently offered helpful ‘well what we did’ advice which in reality makes no difference whatsoever, other than to confuse you even more.

We return to our previous relaxed but now tempered positions and press play on Sky+.

On a side note every house needs Sky+.  No parent will ever see beyond Mickey Mouse if they don’t have it installed.  Once they discover Disney exists, it’s all over sunshine.

11.00pm looms – I have finished my third round of block off snoring and declare “I’m off to bed”. 

Stair climbing, stunt like manoeuvring across the creaking floor boards my bed lures me to her comforting pillows and soothing warm duvet. 

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

And so it begins…………….