Sweet babe o'mine.

Wednesday, 26 November 2008

Bedtime with The Baby has deteriorated once again into a hostage situation. The hostage namely being me and the Husband conveniently being 'out' so nobody to pay my ransom.

The baby raged. Insert much screaming, gasping, shrieking, shouting, screaming, sobbing, demanding, begging, near vomiting, distress, anger..and that's just from her. Oh Arse.

Two hours. Two bastard hours it took for The Baby to a) Go to sleep and b) stay asleep so I could exit the room.

She lulled me into a false security and appeared for all intent purposes asleep. That was until I dared to leave the room then all hell broke loose, again.

I don't do 'controlled crying' and nor do i do 'crying it out'. I'm sorry but you do not want to broach this topic with me, you really don't. I'm tired and depressed and am a breast feeding Ninja who can shoot from 40 paces. However seeing as The Baby is technically a toddler I do let her have a little shout and scream only relenting to walking back into the hostage situation when she persuades herself out of anger and into the realms of being genuinely upset bestilling my throbbing fury in to repentant guilt.

It bemuses me how she can tumult my emotions from the heights of mental instability to the aching pits of undying love in vast pendulous motions again and again in the space of minutes.

How can this darling child who's laid in her bed armed with a pink rabbit whispering 'Pop goes the Weasel' and 'Two Little Dickie Birds' to herself, massaging my swollen heart with her sweet baby breath seemingly inflating it, also be the same child who moments before and moments later had me tearing clumps of my hair out whilst negotiating an escape route straight out the bedroom window in search of expensive breakable things to smash whilst practicing some of my own screaming techniques?

I'd forgiven her for the two bastard hours it took to get some semblance of the evening to myself. That was until she woke up crying approximately ninety minutes later.

Oh hoorah. The Husband (who has now returned avec un Scouse) has miraculously managed to get her back to sleep. On.His.Own

Bugger. That will be another blow job I owe him now.

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