4.52am. There seems to be a running theme in this house at the minute whereby I think the little dictators have held a secret team meeting and decided they’re going to try and break me with no sleep. I’m assuming they invited the cat because she seems to be firmly in on the plan as well. I came to the conclusion somewhere between 2am-4.52am that they have established a rota of who wakes up when on what day.
What they have failed to factor into their plot (not as smart as they think they are these girls) is that I am actually fine with 4.52am. Today anyway. Maybe not tomorrow. But tomorrow, ok so maybe they are smart, because tomorrow they will all sleep until 7am. Ok, 6.15am because if they were asleep at 7am I genuinely would assume they were all drugged or dead. Christ who sleeps to 7am with 3 kids and a demonic possessed cat under the same roof?!
Granted, being woken up before the alarm SUCKS. We get up early anyway because we leave the house at 7.20am (ok 7.25am) so I am in no way championing that we should all wake up at 4.52am or any other stupidly early time every morning. But, I have decided to start embracing it. For the moment anyway.
I have found myself flying solo in what sometimes seems like a never ending battle with a very clever enemy. #3 is at the delightful stage where she either sleeps all night or wakes up 13 times. She can speak, but not enough to actually articulate what she wants at the precise time her world is ending (this morning it was 5.13am when she wasn’t allowed popcorn for breakfast) She still wears nappies which is more than inconvenient considering my brain is ‘totally over babies’ and forgets to take any spares out with me literally every time we leave the house. And to top it all off she’s 2. By pure age definition she is the devil incarnate. #2 is…well she’s delightfully fucking infuriating. Yesterday she was lovely, on Sunday I’m not sure how I didn’t throw her into the harbour. Enough said really. And #1. Well. She is amazing. She is funny, and kind, and helpful, and she is my little side kick and I absolutely adore the bones of her. But she is (nearly) 8. She is horrible. She is filled with hormones, and attitude and she knows EVERYTHING and her life is unfair. She cannot understand why can’t walk to school on her own at 7am or why I can’t leave her in the house while I go to Asda because ‘she’ll be fine’ don’t you know.
But so what? Granted ‘they’ don’t tell you just how shit it can be sometimes, but this is life. There is no magical ‘when they sleep it’ll be better’ mantra in this house, not anymore. I used to think that by achieving all of the things that we are ‘meant’ to achieve that I would in fact be a well rounded, happy adult. What I have come to realize is, it doesn’t quite work like that. And I am more than ok with that.
Getting married won’t make you happy. Buying a house won’t make you happy, neither will having children. It isn’t a checklist that we need to work through in order to become happy and to graduate into life. Could you imagine? “Congratulations you have now completed all the tasks required to progress into adulthood…ENJOY” Nope, this is it I’m afraid. 4.52am starts and all. Because, life is lived in these moments. Real happiness cannot be married, or studied for, it does not come with giving birth although without these things life would be considerably empty albeit less tired. When we strip it all back, if we are not happy and content with ourselves then nothing that we achieve or acquire along the way will fill that void.
So for the moment…I am accepting that sometimes I will have to get up a 4.52am and function all day without a nap, with a smile on m face until I fall into bed at 9pm (ok 8pm) because 1. there isn’t another adult in my house to provide and 2. looking for external validation that by just getting through this day will ‘make things better’ is a crock of shit.
Life is better. Today. Even at 4.52am. Granted, it would be much better if we had all voted Remain, but you take what you get. Maybe we can’t have it all after all.