Today has been whole heap of shit, I have had a 9 month old terrorist screaming at me because he hasn’t slept enough. With all respect George you woke me up not the other way around. Where the hell do kids get off with their unreasonable demands such as I want to eat the router and stick my fingers in the plug, do they seriously not get that I’m just trying to keep them alive??
Oh and Millie, she is a master of the emotional blackmail card, feels like she isn’t get enough attention: cries, feels like no one is listening (because there are 1 million other things going on): cries, can’t get her coat down from the peg: cries. I’m going to have her tear ducts fucking removed.
Today I haven’t wanted to parent, I’ve been looking through Instagram posts of people traveling and the exciting careers that they have, the nice belongings that are vomit free, their cleaned houses because they don’t have a tiny person chasing them around destroying things, their dogs are not sat on the sofa refusing to move and laughing at them secretly.
George is asleep on me as I am writing this and I am too petrified to move him even though I haven’t peed since 8am and I need a coffee, this is the definition of parenting complete and utter fear. Some days the fear is less but it’s always fucking there.
Tomorrow will be a day with less fear and anger. A day Millie comes down stairs and tells me about her wonderful dream that was full of fairies and unicorns, she’ll give me loads of kisses and cuddles and say I love you first. A day where George may not scream at me for hours because he is frustrated with not being able to walk, a day where I may only have to ply him away from the shoe rack once and a day where he kisses me. They push you to the point of utter torment only to completely pull it out of the bag and make you realise that they are actually the best things you could have done with your life. Then the day after normal business will resume and I’ll be fantasising about running out on them again, little shits.