Don’t Nipple-Cripple A Lady When She’s Down.

K-Dog is away. He is communing with the eggheads in Europe, talking physics, eating runny cheese. and working hard. I’m running the circus here, and let me tell you; this single mum-of-three business,  it bites the big one.

I am at full capacity (just past, actually)  managing the needy neediness of my small band of pirates. All of them are reacting to their dads absence in different ways. All of them are competing for attention from their haggard and exhausted mama. I’m over it.

In short:

All three kids were in my bed this morning. I am the opposite of lonely.

The toddler has been waking up at 5.30am. That’s really fun!

My laptop broke down and the man at the computer repair shop wrote ‘blue screen of death’ on the sign-in form. So I’m writing this as I peer over my glasses from the kids computer to the TV screen. As if I needed any help feeling like a haggard old wreck.

Fucking House Of Cards is finished.

Today, Mum and I tried to drive into the city to meet my new nephew. Ten minutes before our destination, we noticed that little Pudding was covered in red spots. So instead of smelling a newborns head we sat in a medical centre for an hour, spoke to a doctor who seemed….drunk…. , and then retraced our 2-hour long drive home. Could be a recurrence of the Slapped Cheek rash she had two weeks ago. Could be measles. Hey nonny no what fun yes what? There is just no point leaving the house.

At home, I put the frazzled baby down for a fifteen-minute nap before I had to bundle her  back in the car to pick up the big girl from school. First day back after the school holidays. Sensitive six year old. Epic meltdown of epic proportions. Deep breath and into the conversational breach for that one.

Meanwhile, the 5 year old boy child had spent hours, hours in the car and was looking for trouble wherever he could find it. Pinch this sister. Steal this sisters beloved dog and throw it in the bin. Shout ‘Naughty mummy! Naughty mummy! Naughty Mummy!’ at full volume for the fun of it. (It looked pretty fun, granted.)

I’d been driving all day and swallowing impotent tears of frustration and rage into a hard little ball in my stomach, so I wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Calming three little overstimulated nervous systems with food and eye contact and conversation took all the juice I had left. I put on the TV, and I ran the bath and got in, for seven blissful, relaxing minutes until Pudding came in, said ‘Looky that thing,’  reached into the bath, and twisted one of my delicate regions with her ragged little fingernails.

At the end of a tough day, the final indignity of a nipple cripple.

Single mums: my deepest respect to  you.  You for President!

But K: Come home quickly. We really need you around here.