*caution this post contains rude language, because frankly after last night I cannot be bothered to be civil*
A good friend of mine says the first mistake that we make with our kids is we teach them to talk…then as if that is not bad enough, we teach them to think for themselves.
I am seriously reconsidering the teaching to talk thing.
Last night, at 3 pm the terrorist started calling out for his dad. Who of course is such a sound sleeper that a herd of leprous elephants can do the ‘can-can’ on his pillow without him so much as stirring in his sleep.
When I heard the first syllable uttered I thought: ‘Oh good, he isn’t calling me’ and I slowly closed my eyes again. On the fourth call I realised that I could pretty much hack of the husband’s leg and he would still not be getting up.
<Mind you I was tempted (hacking of his leg I mean, the only thing stopping me was the mess that I would have to clean up afterwards). You see the husband was favouring his flamingo move again last night-don’t know if anyone else’ husbands inflict this particular sleeping position on them?
Let me explain the hell that is the flamingo to those fortunate enough never to have encountered it.
Step 1: lie flat on your back, as close as possible to your partner.
Step 2: bend your elbow and put your hand under your head-what is important here is that it has to be the elbow on your partner’s side and if it is not in your partner’s eye/mouth then you are not lying close enough to them.
Step 3: pull up your leg until the knee is bent at a 45 degree angle and your foot is rests in the fold of your other leg. Again this must be the leg with the closest proximity to your partner to ensure that they receive the full patella enema treatment.
Step 4: if you are able to snore-you have transcended to level 900 druid (ie. you are golden)>
So there I was, unable to sleep in any event, and realising that if I managed to wake up the spouse he would just bring the offspring to the bed and with that all hopes of getting any further shut eye goes down the drain. So I put up my most patient face and voice (which is saying a lot-did I mention that it was 3 o’clock?), pad over to the offspring’s room and gently lay him down and swallow the urge to tell him “it is the middle of the night, now please go the fuck to sleep”.
He asks for his dad. I say he is sleeping (again I have to bite my tongue to leave the expletives out of the conversation-have you ever heard how fast a toddler picks up on a swearword? BTW if he says something that sounds like “Fuckit” it is actually Rocket okay? That is my story and I am sticking to it).
He asks for his dad. I say he is sleeping.
He asks for a bottle. I say you already had it.
He asks for a rocket launcher/pony. I say no (while shoving the dummy in his mouth), it is the middle of the night, now go to sleep.
Finally he quietens down and I manage to sneak back to bed (well the 2cm strip that is left open) and crawl under the duvet. Only to lie awake, until 2 min before I had to get up.
I am so tired that I was actually envious of the sleeping homeless man I had to climb over in order to get to the train this morning.