The sea

Someone said to me – you always find the joy and I wish I could do that. And she looked like she was going to cry and I very nearly cried at the time and reflecting back on it I can’t stop the tears.

I’m crying because I sincerely wish that were true. I’m sitting on the floor of the bathroom writing this. I am beyond exhausted. Today I really and truly feel like I have nothing more to give.

There were so many wake ups last night I just stopped counting. I didn’t sleep at all. There’s nothing poetic or special or honourable in sleep deprivation. It’s just awful.

I feel completely overwhelmed and numb. I am trying to stop the tears before my oldest wakes up so that I don’t alarm him. The last thing he needs is to wake up to me being a mess.

The day lies ahead as if it’s a churning sea. I don’t know how I’m ever going to get through when I feel like I don’t even have a life raft.

But then – I do know I’ve been here before.

I’ve run my fingers along the tiles as I cried.

And then Eddie has climbed onto my lap and kissed my cheeks and said “you tired dear mama? Is okay jus go sleep I watch baby wonnie” and I’ve laughed. And laughing has made him laugh. An unsure chuckle at first and then a huge burst of giggles.

And I’ll squeeze him tight and say do you know how much I love you? And he’ll say 24 because that’s the biggest number he knows.

And then the baby will blow raspberries and we will laugh again.

I’ll stand up. Wash my face. And we will have a good day.

I’ve been here before, and I’m sure you have to. Maybe we do have a life raft and the sea only looks heavy and dark from here. Maybe when we get closer it’s calmer. We will make it ok.

We will find the joy.

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12 Comments on “The sea

  1. This. Oh my, now I am crying. Again. Because I am in exactly the same place, only that the dreaded night is just about to start, as I am in Europe. So I cry even more because you live in my favorite place on earth and at least have the sea… And I don’t. But we have wonderful children and this too shall pass. Thank you for your writing, it just helps to know that someone understands on the other side of the world – and can put it into words in such a wonderful way! Have a great day and a better night!

  2. I’m so sorry you’re still having nights and days like this. I don’t know what to say. It doesn’t help to say that you’re a strong woman, when you’d rather be an asleep woman. But I hear you and I hope you get some rest today.

  3. *hugs* Those nights are tough – and if family naps are a rarity/nonentity the days that follow can seem very long! But your boys do sound lovely – hopefully today will be full of giggles and hugs and small people playing happily while you can sit down and enjoy restfully watching them.

  4. HUGE hugs!!!!! I am too tired to offer anything else except maybe just continue to breath and know that one day they will sleep and then you can take great joy in blowing a trumpet at their bedside at dawn.

  5. Sending you a big virtual hug. I now feel ungrateful for the five hours hours of sleep I chalked up in between blindly navigating a two hour screaming session (tummy ache), two feeds and one poonami during the aptly named, hours of darkness. Keep on keeping on – you’ll get your turn when those beautiful children of yours have to look after their poor old Mum when she’s no longer got her faculties šŸ˜‰

  6. So remember being in this place, im sorry it feels so desperate….I know its not comforting words now but it will get better, my wee boy has just turned 2 and hes finally sleeping through. Hugest of hugs to you xxxx

  7. Please don’t ever let me forget that I have also been there and it was equally impossible and doable. My kids are older but sleep was not something my youngest did. (Autocorrect just changed youngest to toughest, also correct in some ways).

    The exhaustion that comes with a wee one waking us is bloody hard. None of us get the responses right all the time but we try. You do great. We all do our best. It’s probably better than we all give ourselves credit for.

  8. It’s hell, it really is. The first time my daughter slept more than 3 hours in a row she was 15 months old.
    She’s 5 now and finally sleeps through… woo hoo, party time šŸ™‚
    I remember looking in the mirror one day (rookie error) and getting such a shock as I thought there was an intruder in the house….
    Then my son came along šŸ™‚
    I feel for you, I really do, hugs from Ireland, hope the day is going quickly, you know what I mean.
    Hang in there x

  9. I strongly believe it just should not be like this. It should not be ok for primary carers of young children (or any carers of anyone whose role necessitates broken sleep) to be left alone caring for our most vulnerable utterly exhausted. It reflects very poorly on our society. I am angry that this is happening to us. Who does it profit?

  10. Huge, enormous hugs. We get it. We’ve been there. At one point, I wasn’t able to pick myself up and wipe away the tears anymore, so went to my GP to talk about depression. I was so frightened to say the word and to discuss medication – but I did and I’m so glad I did. I’m not saying you’re depressed, but you could be, and that’s OK. You could be just sad, and that’s OK, too. As long as you have people around you who love you and, more importantly, that YOU love you, you’ll be OK. We all need to read posts like this to remind ourselves that we’re not alone. Nuclear families for the lose, man – it takes a village. And then there’s this, which is another piece of awesomeness: http://www.renegademothering.com/2016/03/14/sometimes-need-hear-im-saying/

    More hugs.

  11. This gave me goosebumps. I call these the “in the middle” moments – when I’m at my lowest low or in my deepest despair, and all I want is to be out the other side of it. But, as you’ve so beautifully said, I do always come out the other side of it – and I find that’s the most important thing to remember xxx