…who can’t sleep?
EVER. I’m talking never. Oh no wait, that’s bullshit. I can sleep for roughly 6mins but then I’m up.
Take tonight for example. I got 5 hours kip last night on the back of the past 18months on roughly, I dunno, say 4 a night? The worst being 16minutes when she was 10 days old and the best being 9 hours when I genuinely thought I was at breaking point. My mate found me rocking in the bedroom. She advised rubbing lavender in to my temple, taking her anti-depressants and turning on the room diffuser. He recommended a large whiskey, I took the later and that night it worked (currently necking a large whiskey praying). So yeah, on average, I reckon 4hours. I know what you’re thinking, well Margaret Thatcher survived on 4 hours and was fine. But WAS SHE? And quite honestly, give a shit? I can’t. My hair is falling out, I am slightly more deranged than I ever was, I’m forgetful and I am now prone to breaking down at the slightest thing. Beryl has also decided to become a shit sleeper again so she’s up every night for a good hour, if not three, ready to party the night away.
Back to tonight. We’re in Devon. We had a typically touristy day, drove down undrivable roads to a tiny town where it proceeded to piss it down so we ran for cover in a café. She refused to eat, refused to sit, did a giant shit under the high chair and twice got asked to leave the kitchen area. After half an hour of pretending it was the best time we’ve ever had we left, clutching a warm nappy bag. The bathroom sign said, “dear customer. We have gone above and beyond to cater for children here at Covers so we hope you understand when we say we do not provide nappy disposal services.” Sadly there was no pen and paper for me to voice my lack of understanding so as to release my anger I allowed Beryl to flush a wipe. Mother of god I’m going to hell.
After a reluctant nap from her (can’t think where she gets it from) we played out, went swimming, I say swimming. We, no I, spent 5 painful minutes trying to get her utterly useless swim jacket on only for her to scream whilst in the water to get out and spend the remaining 7 unbareably hot minutes in a very ill-fitting pregnancy costume as I’m fucked if I know where my one and only decent one is, saying; don’t run, don’t do that, leave that, the fishes in the oh fuckit let’s just go. Then battled with another unsuccessful meal and spent an hour in the play barn. This place is fan-bloody-tastic. I mean we’ve not seen any NO DRINKING signs in the play barn so yes while she plays we work our way through a bottle of red. I gave up drinking on Tuesday for sleep issues – after another shit night I sacked that off.
Home, bath, bed for her. We watched an hour of rocket man and my eyes were going. HURRAH finally, I want to go to bed, I don’t feel nervous, I'm excited to curl up and sleep. I barely say night to him and BAM I’m asleep. 6minutes later and like a thunderbolt throwing me back to earth I’m awake and panicking like mad. WTAF IS GOING ON? I’ve riddled with CBD oil tables, I’ve got CBD oil smeared on my face, lavender on my pillow, I’m fucking knackered and I’m awake after 6minutes with a pounding heart and thinking about a sleepover at Debbie's house from 1994. Why the inability to remember the layout of her mums house is plaguing me so much is beyond me but that’s the trigger, I mean COME THE FUCK ON. Seriously. I’m lay here wide awake in pitch black wondering if it was indeed an galley style kitchen or if I have made that up. I HATE MYSELF.
His last words to me were, remember there’s always whiskey downstairs, if you can’t sleep go get wankered and shove a finger in the pinger.
Well, one out of the two doesn’t seem bad.