“My wife is a sex object – every time I ask for sex, she objects.”
Let me set the scene: As I try desperately to balance on my side upon the edge of the bed, my 14 month old sons head cushioned ever so comfortably (for him) on my right boob, his index finger hooked gently inside my nostril. He flexes a little as he stretches his legs out fully and plants his feet with SAS sniper-like precision, into my husbands mouth. My husband so use to this routine doesn’t even flinch, instead he some how manages to weave his left arm around our bundle of joy just enough to enable the tips of his fingers to brush against the tips of mine and this for us is what we call romance! No words need to be said as we are comrades-in-arms; we’re in this together.
“Everyone should have kids. They are the greatest joy in the world. But they are also terrorists. You’ll realise this as soon as they are born and they start using sleep deprivation to break you.”
Through out my pregnancy I was continuously gifted with the advice to sleep as much as I could, while I still could. Something I found so ridiculous; it’s not like there’s a sleep bank you can deposit superfluous z’s into, in order to withdraw at a later date. It’s only now I realise that what they actually meant was get as much as you can to keep the memory of feeling sleep rich full and fresh in your mind, for it’s when that’s lost you begin to loose hope and probably need to call the cavalry in.
“Every silver lining has a cloud.”
Mary Kay Ash
The truth of it all is you can sleep all you want when you’re dead, life is short and constantly evolving so, enjoy what you have while you have it, because to not is just such a sad, sorry waste of time. In the words of Tim Minchin “be dedicated to the pursuit of short term goals.” Fuck the laundry if sprog is napping, grab a nap yourself, even if it’s just for ten minutes, sat up, still clutching aimlessly to your frozen cold cup of tea. Give him a kiss, even if his breath stinks and he irritated the crap out of you all night snoring like a rhino with asthma, grab him quickly in his dash for the door, all dishevelled (and crying on the inside), grab him and plant the biggest, sloppiest snog you can muster all over his face and hey promise him a little summin’ summin’ later, you both know it’s improbable but making it remotely possible will keep him going, if only until he reaches the car and has to try and get the damned thing to start.