I’m exhausted. Like, seriously-dead tired-I could die-exhausted.
K had a science/technology conference thingy he had to go to up at The University of Queensland today for school, but the parents were responsible for getting the kids there and back. For those of you who don’t know where I live, it’s about an hour – and hour and 15, on a good day with no traffic. Anyone who is a frequent traveller on the M1 in and out of Brisvegas knows the BULLSHIT that goes on during peak hours.
I haven’t had to battle that traffic since I went on maternity leave and wasn’t keen to dive back in. Anyway, I had to. Did I mention K had to be there by 8am? Yup. So that meant I wanted to leave home by 6:15 at the latest. Problem dudes – that is T’s wake up time. 6 – 8:30 = T’s ‘I’m awake and want boob and then breakfast and playtime’ time. The last place he would want to be during awake time is stuck in the car for that long. I envisioned a journey of screaming baby and majorly stressed Mummy. Train/bus/ferry + fares and timetable angst did not overly thrill me either.
Solution = wake T (make noises, turn on lights and let him ‘wake up’ himself) at 5:15 so I can actually give him boob and some breakfast and some playtime before we leave, then hopefully he’ll have a bit of a kip eventually in the car (he didn’t by the way, but he was pretty good anyway).
So, early start + the M1 BULLSHIT carpark traffic to the conference + baby that didn’t feel like taking proper naps today + a lovely lunch with a friend and her cute as pie baby in the city while I waited for K + the M1 BULLSHIT carpark traffic coming home from the conference + grumpy overtired baby = very exhausted me. No joke, I was actually slapping myself in the face driving home to stay awake.
Conversation with K in the car on the way home is as follows:
Me: I’m so tired, I want to go to bed early. I’m not going to blog tonight.
K: Why don’t you write in your blog that your not going to write in your blog.
Me: That’s a good idea, except then I’d be blogging.
K: It’s OK Mum, don’t worry about being a contradiction.
Such language K. So this is in fact, me following K’s advice. I’m too tired to blog tonight, and yet, here I am contradicting myself.
Later in the car T is making grunty poo noises. Some time lapses. Conversation ensues:
Me: Smells a bit like poo around here.
K: That’s just your brains falling out of your ears.
Me: Are you saying I have shit for brains?
K: (Unable to answer. Laughing his balls off.)
Just so we are perfectly clear, I don’t often swear in front of my kids. I save that for grown up time. However, K and J are old enough and intelligent enough to appreciate the occasional s-bomb, when deemed appropriate for context. Don’t get all ‘Evil Mum’ on me. K did in fact tell me off for swearing once he came up for air and said I only had POO for brains. Thanks K. I love you too buddy.