What a shit shambles of a day.
It’s funny isn’t it, how our social media channels often do reflect our own lives but with a shiny, glossy filter to make it look all that much more appealing… and I for one am certainly guilty of that. But the truth is, that if I captured days like to day and posted them to Instagram, my feed would look, well, a bit shit.
Today is certainly a day that I don’t wish to record, for old times sakes. Bells has had a temperature following YET ANOTHER nursery cold which has now lasted 6 days. I waited, knowing that there was no point in being told by the doctor that it was a virus which would pass, but after 5 nights of very little sleep and a very cranky baby, I finally took her today. The poor little blighter has another ear infection and so starts another week’s worth of antibiotics, half of which will be spat out and then I’ll have to guess how much more I should give her.
Everything seems so much tougher on such little sleep. Dickie has been working long-shifts and so morning to night has been spent trying to comfort/cuddle/remain patient/not resort to drink. When he sent a text asking how things had been today, I simply sent back “😁🔫”. I think he got the picture.
Following the outing to the doctors, I decided to take her as planned to Odds Farm with my friend in the hope that it would distract her…. which worked until she decided that she didn’t want any animals or children looking at her/talking to her/playing with her – which is pretty hard when you’re at a children’s petting farm. It wasn’t her finest hour.
All food has been rejected – every single 12 of the courses offered at all 3 sittings and even our fail safe watermelon. When watermelon doesn’t bring her around, I tend to break into a cold sweat as that’s me done, I have nothing else to offer. Even ice-cream didn’t cut it…
I breathed a sigh of relief when she went to bed tonight. I feel awful for saying that because the days/weeks/months go so quickly and I hate wishing time away. But sometimes bedtime is just such an appealing hour…. and there it is, mum guilt.