…and then the blossom was dancing again

Permanently looking like a panda is the standard look for me these days. I adore my baby, but she is slowly driving me insane after more than eight months of sleep that lasts a maximum of two hours at a time.

I think I hit my ‘wall’ last weekend. I could feel my eyes were heavy, my limbs were slow and just driving to my parents house was enough activity for the day.  The mulch of blossom on my car (creating ANOTHER job I just didn’t have time for), the cold weather, and the constant fact I just wasn’t sleeping enough was just building up into a ball of despair in me. It felt like a big cloud was hanging low over my head, shrouding everything in gloom.

Arriving at my parents, I put Twiglet down in the kitchen, immediately started telling my mum stories from the week, keeping a close eye on a baby who was now crawling, pulling herself up and grabbing everything in sight- a lot had changed in a week, and I was struggling to adjust to a much more active and accident-prone baby.  Halfway into our first story, I spot Twiglet trying to use the vegetable rack, which is on wheels, to pull herself up. I heaved a sigh and scooped her up, muttering ‘it’s not a good day, is it?’ Mum turned from the sink and calmly replied ‘it’s not a bad day, it’s just your attitude.’ 

Now that may sound harsh, or nonchalant in the face of exhaustion, or may just ring true based on my mood, but to me it was like an epiphany. She was completely right. Looking at my active, inquisitive baby, I suddenly remembered she was hardly at an age to be purposefully naughty, she was, and still is, exploring her world. 

So for the last week, tired, reasonably rested, hungry, whatever my state, I’ve worked hard to be more positive for my baby. And it’s worked. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still dying for a good nights sleep, but I’m once again enjoying all the little things. Her laugh, her fascination with an empty bottle over any expensive toy, her baby chat, her determination to climb on any piece of furniture, her singing, all of it. Just making sure I remain positive has pushed that cloud away, and made me feel happier in myself.  

 Twiglet is such a happy baby, and last week in the car I just ended up grinning; in the mirror I have installed in the car on the headrest so I can see her, she was talking and waving to me, and the sun was breaking through the clouds. A wind whipped up at the traffic lights and the blossom swirled up, then floated over the traffic like natures confetti welcoming the summer and I thought ‘if that’s not a pathetic fallacy, I don’t know what is’

Mums offhand comment has really pulled me back and helped me keep upbeat, so thank you mum- the blossom is dancing again. 🌸


An open letter to my neighbours…

Dear neighbours,

We’re not friends. At best we are mere acquaintances. At worst, simply people living next to each other, living our own lives oblivious to one another’s. 

I want you to know I understand the walls are old and thin. And that I understand everyone has their own quirks, habits, routines. That I understand sometimes children tantrum and scream, or that sometimes you just need to turn up your favourite song just because. But I also want you to know you seriously suck. Like, really.

I’ve often mentioned during our polite exchanges that for more than eight months now my baby has had me up every two hours every night. I am exhausted. This is in no way an exaggeration. With two children of your own I assumed you’d understand my desperate need for sleep at any given opportunity. Apparently not.

Is it just ignorance that makes you want to loudly clean out and Hoover your fireplace at 10pm? Or pure whim that you’ve chosen to rearrange your house tonight at 9pm? Perhaps the hour is not that late to you, despite your children waking you, and us, up at the crack of dawn every day with their adorable screaming and tantruming. I can’t tell you how much I love that, knowing my baby is still sleeping and my partner has only had six hours sleep after a 13 hour day, to be woken up by you. And if it’s not the children, it’s you, whistling. Got to love a whistler. 

It seems worse because I’ve spoken to you before about noise. Several times. And I don’t believe the sound only travels one way. It can’t, surely? 

My Twitter followers probably think I’m insane, or an old lady, the number of times I’ve ranted about your inconsiderate behaviours. I just need to vent. We are far too polite and British to do it in person. 

To sum up, please be quiet. Please just THINK, because next door I’m likely despairing, and wondering if we indeed disturb you just as much. 


The sleep deprived neighbour