I’m spending the journey home from work today googling advice for tonight. “How to be patient when your child throws food at you”. “How to keep smiling when your child throws the thermometer in the toilet.” “Do the no smacking laws really apply if you’ve been “accidentally” pinched? Again.”
I had forgotten how the world changes for the sleep deprived. Another chest infection for the little man, another run of unsettled nights for us. I sit on the tube in my own little bubble, hyper aware of my loud thoughts and the smallest movements of those around me. There’s a middle aged lady opposite me with her eyes closed; a few minutes ago she was frowning at her coffee cup. It clearly let her down. The young and well presented man next to me pulled a tub out of a scruffy plastic bag and moisturised specific areas of his forehead. The big headphones everywhere are starting to freak me out, like the ear version of enormous bug eyes.
My husband and I normally enjoy setting our New Year’s resolutions. It’s part of the smug self narrative that we excel at when we’re happy – resolutions to just add to the awesomeness of our lives. So when we’re both doing regular exercise, we resolve to take it up a step and get 6-packs. When the finances are good, we resolve to save more and buy a house (never happened. Not ever).