I’m so tired.
I’m tired of saying I’m tired and tired of waking up tired.
I’m tired of the river of green that seems to be an endless stream from both boys noses.
I’m tired of having the same row with my husband about who is more tired, of course I’m more tired.
I’m tired of drinking luke warm tea and leaving half drunk cups around the house.
I’m tired of the horrid cold sores on my lips that won’t budge because I am run down.
I’m tired of seeing a full washing basket with a pair of stinky socks dangling over the top making a bid for freedom.
I’m tired of having to be grateful when my husband dresses or feeds the children.
I’m tired of not being able to wear my contacts because my eyes are so tired that I live in my glasses and can’t then wear all my vaguely trendy sunglasses.
I’m tired of feeling guilty when I roll my eyes at my husbands come to bed eyes at 11.45pm because quite simply I am too tired.
I’m tired of people laughing at my new love of blogging and tired of people who don’t understand Twitter saying oh I don’t have time for all that twittering stuff it’s a waste of time.
I can’t believe it but I’m growing tired of facebook.
I’m tired of relying on my husband for technical advice.
I’m tired of never having a pound coin for the shopping trolley.
I’m tired of spending time fighting to keep 2 children in a trolley while I do the food shopping, then trying to distract them for long enough to put all the food away only to throw what feels like mountains of food away because it has got lost at the back of the fridge.
I’m tired of saying a hundred times a day be gentle he’s only a tiny baby.
Don’t tell anyone as it makes me sound like a terrible mother but I am growing a little bit tired of being patient with potty training.
I’m tired of people asking if we are going to have another baby to try and get a girl. It makes me feel like a second class citizen.
I’m tired of not having enough hours in the day to read all the fabulously inspiring mummy blogs I have discovered.
I’m really tired of getting up in the night now the small boy is sleeping through, to big boy shouting my covers aren’t working, my pillow is not right, I’ve lost my dogdog when the stinky ratty toy is cradled in his arms.
I’m tired of justifying buying nice clothes for the boys. I go to work why shouldn’t I treat them to a few matching outfits.
I’m tired of of people telling me you don’t need any more toys. Toys are like Clarks shoes, they are perfect for a few months then your child grows and its time to start again.
I’m tired of my jeans not fitting without an enormous muffin top and tired of not being able to drink wine without putting on weight.
I’m tired of trying to please everyone and feeling like you end up pleasing no one.
Lastly, I’m so tired of looking tired. I feel like I have aged 10 years since I turned 30. I went to Matalan the other day in a desperate quest to find some new non mumsy clothes and thought what am I doing?! I picked up a pair of white cropped trousers my mum has. Enough said.
