I don’t even know what day it is any more.

My newspaper was not delivered this morning.  Every Saturday I have the Guardian delivered, and proceed to read about a third of it, usually not including the actual news.  By the time Ex-Husband arrived at 10 am, and my Guardian still hadn’t, I was feeling quite irritated.  I would have to walk down to the newsagents to collect it, and they might have run out, and then they would say they would take it off my bill, but I’m never sure they actually do, and last time I went to complain because the magazine was missing, they laughed at me.  I’m glad, therefore, that I realised, before I left to complain, that the reason my Saturday Guardian didn’t arrive is that today is Tuesday.  It feels like a Saturday because it’s usually a Saturday when Ex-Husband picks the girls up from home.  I hope I remember tomorrow that it’s Wednesday and go to work.

My children’s access arrangements baffle me.  On Friday I went to nursery to collect Big Girl and Small Girl, and they weren’t there.  Of course, I panicked, that dull fear that rushes through me when my children are not where I expect them to be and I imagine a life without them in it.  Not that Ex-Husband would ever run away with them.  Just like he would never have left me with no warning that there was anything wrong.  And then the irritation, as the nursery staff explained that Ex-Husband had told them the day before that they would not be in because it was his day off.  And then annoyance, scrolling back through texts as I pushed an empty pushchair home, realising that we had arranged that he would drop them at home, and that I had forgotten this.  At least nursery think he is an inconsiderate arse rather than thinking I am an incompetent parent.  I probably won’t put them right on this matter.

Ex-Husband gets his random shifts about three weeks in advance, tells me when he is free to have the girls, and then we negotiate over when they will see him.  This is often quite stressful because there is no trust on either side, no shared understanding of the girls’ needs from access and very different priorities and perspectives.  And so I am living with one set of confusing and irregular access arrangements and negotiating a completely different set of arrangements a month ahead, often on little sleep and while trying to do a stressful job and look after two small and demanding children.  So yes, I get confused.

Ex-Husband’s training course comes to an end in a couple of months and then he will be onto random shifts until he gets a fixed shift-pattern.  I am hoping this will happen sooner rather than later so we can have one big discussion about access and then I will be able to plan ahead for nursery, and for the girls, and for my social life.  And so Ex-Husband and I will have less to discuss and less to argue about and more reason to move on and move apart.  And so I, hopefully, will only go to nursery when my children are actually there.

 

You’re right, I’m never happy. But thank you for asking.

Knowing, as I do, lots of Christians, my facebook news feed over the weekend was filled with status updates along the lines of ‘it’s Friday… But Sunday’s coming!’.  For me, this past weekend has been ‘it’s Saturday, but Tuesday’s coming’.  I have crawled through my life, just holding out for Tuesday.  Every single activity has been an almost inhuman effort.  I have been irritable with my children.  I have pissed off my family with my grumpiness.  Getting up has been hard.  I can’t think past the end of each day or plan for the next one.

I have never felt like this before about handing my children over to Ex-Husband.  Not that I was looking forward to it, or wanted to be without them. But I craved it, like the longing for a cup of tea during a hectic day (yes, I am getting old).  Ex-Husband has been on holiday over Easter, so I had them for ten solid days, with small breaks to go into work to do my currently-busy-and-stressful-job and then rush home again and pick up the children.  Oh, and Small Girl has been teething, or poorly, or just plain clingy.  So most nights I was up with her three times in the night.  And Big Girl has started night terrors – not badly, but it’s not fun.  So I was exhausted and desperate for just a little time with no demands on me.  Oh, and some sleep.

We went to Ikea for a coffee morning.  Ex-Husband picked the girls up.  And it *was* really nice to sit and chat without worrying about Small Girl escaping like a ninja from the play area (she has done this a couple of times recently.  It starts with noticing that she isn’t where I thought she was.  Then I look around the play area, then the restaurant, then into the toilets, the shop, the childrens’ area, the bit by the lift.  And then back to the play area.  First I wonder where she is, where she has wandered off to.  And then, suddenly, I wonder if someone has taken her, and there is a fear like nothing else, and I can see a whole life ahead of me coloured by the absence of Small Girl, and no idea how I would explain this to her father.  And then, suddenly, she is found and I pick her up and just hold her and hold her).  And then I wander round Ikea marvelling at the experience of looking at things I am interested in without also trying to stop Big Girl and Small Girl picking up everything in sight while running in two different directions or lying on the floor and screaming.

And then that feeling creeps up on me.  You had three bags of shopping and now you only have two: which shop did you leave the third in? You came here to do something: what was it? Where is your handbag? You were just going to say something but you can’t remember what.  That nagging sensation of something missing, something forgotten, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

And every so often, even when I’m going out, I’m having fun, I’m enjoying myself, I’m being purposeful and achieving things, I am plunged into icy water; my breath is taken away from me.  My children are not here and I feel desolate.

I miss them desperately. Amidst the opportunity to have an evening out with friends, or eat my dinner at my own pace without sharing, or make something, or sleep all night, I wish my children were here.  But the crawling, crawling through life on no sleep and no brain: I’m not sure I can live with that either.

No, I’m never satisfied.  But Thursday’s coming, and so are my children.

Dreaming of sleep

I went to the sleep clinic today and saw the child psychologist.  We talked about all the different challenges I am facing getting Small Girl to sleep (she won’t go to sleep!  She won’t stay asleep!) and my anxieties about the effects this is having on Big Girl.  I cried, of course – it doesn’t help that last night Small Girl woke up at 11 pm and 1.30 am, then Big Girl woke up around 2 am and Small Girl was up from 4 am.  I brought her into bed with me and she fed for the rest of the night, so I haven’t really slept.  Oh, and Ex-Husband and I have been arguing about access arrangements again.  The phrase ‘not unreasonable’ has been used, repeatedly, by both of us to support entirely opposing arguments.  It is exhausting and emotionally draining, particularly when we’re likely to carry on doing this for another 10-15 years.

And then we talked about different strategies: stopping breastfeeding at night; putting Big Girl to bed first; getting Small Girl used to going to sleep in her bed and then gradually withdrawing from the room; keeping a sleep diary and looking for patterns; disturbing her slightly before a regular waking time to reset her sleep pattern; putting Big Girl to sleep in my bed while settling Small Girl.

Of course, I have ignored all the advice. Firstly, I want one last go.  One last go of feeding her to sleep and putting her down gently in her bed, knowing I’ve settled her.  One last go of getting up in the night, comforting her and watching her fall back to sleep as she feeds.  I am desperate for full nights of sleep, and to no longer experience the desperate need to be lying down fighting against the requirement to stay awake and upright. But still, there is something about night feeding which is special and intimate and belongs just to me and Small Girl.  Of course, I don’t have to do stop doing these things.  It’s up to me.  But I do need more sleep for us all.

And secondly, I am too tired and brain-addled to work out a plan tonight.  I can’t work out, in my head, how to juggle two children and coax them both into their beds.  I am trying to imagine the unforeseen consequences of changes to their routine.  I am thinking through what is most likely to make my life better rather than harder and tonight I just can’t get there.

So, tonight I am going to bed, and I hope to sleep, and not be disturbed.  And if I am disturbed I hope to cherish the time with my baby rather than hissing imprecations at her or begging her to go back to sleep.  And tomorrow perhaps I will make a plan which will, eventually, lead to the dream: putting two children into bed, kissing them goodnight, and not seeing them again until morning.

I am nothing if not optimistic.