Too F***ING tired to do ANYTHING.

You get to a point in parenting when you stop complaining about being tired. You accept that kids mean less kip and that grumbling about ain’t going to make it any easier.

Then once in a while your body gives up. Another 5.30 start suddenly feels like one to many…. today is one of those days. Today I feel like complaining.

So here’s a list. Right now I am ‘Too tired to…’

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• Stay within any kind of acceptable caffeine guidelines. Only tea can save me now…

• Have any banter. For example: I am on a new desk at work. I’ve got zero chat. I haven’t even got the energy to pretend to be fun… that combined with a ‘bitchy resting face’, and an irritating cough means I’m basically the ‘desk buddy from hell’ right now.

• Offer or make anyone else tea or coffee. See above.

• Bear the sound of that repetitive toy. Imagine how satisfying it would be to lob the Jumperoo through the bi-fold doors?

• Put make-up on effectively. Going ‘au natural’ is obviously not an option anymore. But make-up on tired face looks awful… My pores are like gapping chasm.

• Tolerate the SAME story book AGAIN. It’s cute that kids get attached to certain books. But today the tedium of Thomas the Tank and other automative tale feels like an up hill climb too many

• As for Dr Seuss books?! Avoid at all costs. They make you feel like you are tripping-out at the best of times.  Reading them when exhausted? Nah mate.

• Actually concentrate. Scrolling scrolling  scrolling through Instagram, not actually looking at anything….  my thumb has a mind of its own; as if all the caffeine has gone directly to it. 

• Remember what you wanted to Google. Instead waste half an hour absentmindedly looking at holidays you can’t afford.

• Remember what foods go with what. Or how to cook them. Hopefully if you keep looking in the fridge long enough you’ll think of something. Then inevitably decide to make a stir fry.

• Face the whole ‘Cycle of Strife’: put everyone in carseats. Put the buggy in the car. Get the buggy out the car. Put the child in the car. Put the toddler on the scooter. Only to end up carrying the scooter. Then doing everything in reverse.

• Be bothered to go to the loo. A risky game with a dodgy pelvic floor.

• Be bothered to get up off the toilet once you are there. 

• Worry about the fact that Batman may not be the best programme choice for a 3 year old.

• Have another argument about the socks your husband didn’t pick up.

• Have another argument about bath-time.

• Care that the kids are trashing the house/ eating food from down the back of the sofa/ tipping over the dog bowl/ drawing on the table/ are naked or got a massive poo in their nappy.

• Recollect why you thought having more kids would be a good idea.

• Have any sympathy for that woman in the office complaining about jet-leg after her exotic holiday. That blurry spun-out sensation? That is my life.

• Then suddenly it’s bedtime. You’ve had a gin, ideally a bath, and one of two things happen:

  1) The feeling of dread sets it. What will tonight bring? 

  2) You get a false sense of optimism.  Maybe, just maybe, tonight is The Night. 

• Maybe tonight you’ll get a REALLY good sleep. If only you could stop scrolling mindlessly through social media – NOT looking at anything and NOT actually going to sleep, even though you are exhausted.