Something has happened to my head since I had children. I’m all over the place. I rush from one thing to the next. In a fluster. In a panic. Must get this done. Quick, do that! Don’t stop. Go. Go. Go.
And I am so tired. All the time.
My boys are 19 months apart and my eldest was still waking once a night when his brother was born. Never more than 2 hours sleep at a time. Bug-eyed-I-forgot-to-shower–this-week-tired.
And yet the world thought I was okay. My friends told me I was amazing. My family said “It’s alright, not for much longer.” But I just couldn’t think clearly. One thought would start before the next had finished and on my way to hanging up the washing I’d put the rubbish because I’d rearranged the furniture looking for a piece of Lego and found an apple core. The washing would be forgotten and need to be rewashed two days later when found again.
I forgot things. All the time.
We joked about it when I was pregnant with my first. I walked home with bags and bags of groceries, only to realize 2 hours later that I’d driven to the supermarket.
But then it got serious.
Driving home from on of eldest’s many extra-curricular activities (if he was at home he’d scream and I’d go insane). I heard laughter in the back. Wild-abandon laughter. Thrill-seeker laughter. I turned. He was standing. STANDING. On his car seat. I’d forgotten to buckle him in. But the worst bit was yet to come though. I braked. At 80km an hour I braked. It was a reflex and it was wrong. Thankfully we both got lucky that day. He tumbled into the footwell and I pulled over smothering my shaking child in kisses and apologies.