It is Saturday morning and I am tired. Once again, I can smell the fear of fatigue.
Why oh why must small children alight early from their beds on a Saturday morning? Five thirty am! Such needless action resulting in grumpiness and bad humour. Irrationality becomes family member number five and no one invited him.
We have had much worse nights. A three thirty wake up or the two hour chat that must take place in the middle of the night. Today, it was just an early start. Definitely not the worst. It still feels like proper rest was just within my grasp only to be ripped away at the last minute. I feel robbed.
Recently I overheard someone tell their partner that children are high maintenance. My own little dears were looking for ten things instantly at that exact point and I know for sure that we were the reason the statement was made.
I am not insulted. It is a fact.
Yes. They are high maintenance.
An early morning once in a while is manageable. Wander about, get jobs done and fall on the couch if you need a rest.
That is not possible with the miniscule house managers.
They need things. Right now this minute they are both calling to me do things. Both requests/demands are minor but must be immediately carried out. Instantly like bad mash.
You see, they are high maintenance because the needs are constant and never ending. You get up at half five and you do not stop. You know the minute you hear the dinky little feet patter, hear the shrill squeal pierce the impossible darkness, that rest is over for another sixteen hours or so.
It was much worse when they are babies if they do not sleep- Betsy was a terrible sleeper- as you have no knowledge of when true bedtime will happen. That utter powerlessness of perennial exhaustion and no sight of consistency I do not miss. We are not there now. I think. Looking back, it is miraculous that ordinary life took place at all during that time.
This is not as bad. Maybe the terror of regression adds to the threat when it does happen?
I must go.
Someone needs me to put an impossibly tiny rubber boot on an equally diminutive dolly.
Coffee on a drip please.