It’s one of THOSE mornings. I was up a lot during the night. We are teething again. The last two. The final frontier. The last hurrah. But because I have been used to sleep for the past month this latest bout of sleep deprivation is hitting me hard. The last week has been rough. I feel like a complete failure as I’ve been on paw patrol. I’ve slept one full night on the floor: right hand in cot, 6th bar. We’ve got through 2 packets of Nielsens granules, a whole bottle of Calpol and half a bottle of Nurofen. My back is knackered from lying on half a play mat and lifting a 2 stone child out of a cot with sides that don’t go down. I’m ratty, I’m not thinking straight and I have to organise two birthday parties this week. Tomorrow, 3 under 2’s are coming to our house for my daughter’s second birthday. The outbuilding in the garden has been demolished but needless to say, they haven’t finished. “Oh yeah, love. We’ll be done in a day.” No you won’t. Your van is full from the job you tried to fit in before coming to our house and I’ve just heard you on the phone saying to someone, “see you in an hour”. So, don’t bullshit me squire. You have spread yourself thin and taken on too many sodding jobs. Our garden looks like a scene from The Blitz. Bricks piled up, electric wires sticking up from the rubble and tools littered around the garden that an inquisitive soon to be two year old would love to have a crack at. Toddlers love a lump hammer and a saw. I just don’t need this shit this week. On Sunday, we’ve got the whole family coming round but I’m seriously planning plan B which is to decamp to the park. I’ve got to make a cake, wrap a bike, sort out party bags, clean the flat and paint my nails. I mean there’s a lot to do.
And then there’s the teeth. Oh, we’ve had fun this week. Tears, dribbling, refusal to eat anything but an Organix corn snack and some really shit nights and some truly shitty nappies. She’s been taking ages to go to sleep unless Mummy’s hand is in the cot. We’ve also had a good old wee on the carpet and a major incident in a sofa shop. So, the sofa bad search is still going on. We had found one and then ‘im in doors changed his mind. Don’t ask. I’m so over it. Imagine the scene: hubster was trying out several sofa beds, and so was small one. She was hopping on and off cream sofas, white sofas and oatmeal looking things with a fleck. I just happened to a check in the pant department (her not me) and there was nappy full of the squits. This was the kind of nappy that was going to breach. I tried to subtly suggest that we needed to head off asap as there was an unexpected item in the bagging area. Mr Man kept on looking at sofas doing that really irritating thing, “Yep, coming. Just one sec. “ Aargh! Finally he cottoned on that this was a leaker and we had to go and get her off the light coloured upholstery. We walked with purpose to Superdrug as this was the one trip that I hadn’t bought the changing pod. Yes, we have a pod. Deal with it. I’m so frickin “Surrey” yo. I had to buy an entire packet of nappies, wipes and water as husband had realised that he had leaky shit on his hoody as he’d been carrying the small one in an awkward way. They really need to sell an emergency pack for incompetent mothers like me who don’t come prepared. We ran into the big M&S Home and I panic bought a 5 pack of trousers and we did the clean up. Feckin teeth. They cause untold misery.
But, the pot of gold at the end of this murky rainbow is that we are at the final furlong. The last two sodding teeth. When they are through and I can go back to peaceful slumber (haha) I am going take myself off to a ruddy spa. I want to walk around in a dressing gown where everything smells of Clarins and people are drinking prosecco. I want to find a cubby hole and read a book, actually read a book and take it in and reflect on every single tooth that we have grown and welcomed through those gums. Every single fecking one! And I will go to this spa on my own. Sadly, I can only dream. Money is tight as a duck’s nether regions so I might just go to my Mum’s for a couple of days. Until then, I have to work out how to make a number 2 cake (an actual number 2, not a “number 2” nappy style!) without it looking completely gash and entertain little ones with no sleep. Hopefully, after the stress of this week and lots of caffeine I’ll be completely hysterical and be able to do several rounds of Musical statues and Hop little bunnies. There will be no prosecco on Friday afternoon but there certainly will on Sunday. Anyway, I’ve got to come to terms with the fact that my little girl is turning two. She is no longer a baby. She can walk, talk, feed herself and demand that I make the clothes horse into a shop. I’m struggling a bit with the whole 2 thang. I could only bring myself to buy her birthday card a couple of days ago and I got totes emosh when we built her balance bike. I’m going to be an emotional wreck on her actual birthday. Pass the prosecco for gawd’s sake!