Fickle Feckers

Kids are tricky little creatures, aren’t they? Just when you think you’ve got them figured out, when you have a nice little routine happening, when you start to relax a bit, BOOM! Something happens that throws all that hard work straight out the window.

They don’t need to go to bed as early as their siblings anymore. Which is complicated when they all share a room and have an unrealistic idea of what “fair” is.

They get sick and take weeks to get over the night-time coughing.

They decide that bedtime is when they desperately need your undivided attention.

They suddenly develop a fear of the dark and need to come into your bed with you in the middle of the night. When there’s already two other kids in the bed with you.

They are ready to be weaned (read: I am ready to wean them) and need to be patted to sleep for 45 minutes, several times during the night.

See? Fickle I tell you.

It’s hard enough to roll with this punches under normal circumstances, but when you’ve already been punched in the guts and kicked in the shins, patience runs pretty fecking thin. Frith was always very patient with the kids, and would step in when he could see I was getting close to the end of my tether. And I would do the same for him, when he’d had a long day at work and was not up to the bedtime shenanigans.

Thank God (I seriously thank God) my parents are not only patient with the kids beyond belief, but they are eternally forgiving and supportive of me and my current short temper. I know that some days I crave a big yard and a house to call my own, but for the time being, this is exactly where the kids and I need to be.

Thanks Mum and Dad. Seriously.

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