It's that time of night again, when I'm terribly fackered (yes, I made that up less of a mouthful than fucking knackered) yet unable to sleep. The Husband has gone out and left the television downstairs on so all I can hear is Peppa Pig, I hope The Kitten is at least enjoying it. The ridiculously short battery life of my wee netbook is decreasing at an alarming rate and I fear if I rummage for the charger I'll trip over something and break my neck in the dark I haven't seen my bedroom carpet in months and the debris is akin to quicksand. The thought of exploring it in the dark is a little too white-knuckle-esque for me.
The Toddler is fast asleep next to me having delayed going to sleep with a story, a song, an impromptu trip to the loo for a ripe old shit and implorations for his beaker of water to be refilled all interjected with plenty of breastfeeding. Still I suppose the subtle lullaby of his sleepy breaths is a tad more enchanting than his vitriolic arguments with The Spawn and his protestations of absolute innocence at anything he may stand accused of having committed in the court of family.
I'm stuck between a double rock and a hard place. I can't sleep until I know Thing Two is asleep, she has insomnia you see. However, she'll wait until I manage to extricate myself from the The Toddler to go pee to suddenly pounce and attempt to delay my return to The Toddler (who's chances of waking up increase with every second I'm AWOL) with an insistent stream of random questions and requests. The other part of the double rock and hard place is The Toddlers recent freaky ability to awaken from deepest slumber the instant I attempt to do a runner and refuses to be placated whilst insisting he simply must accompany me. So whilst sat on the loo, he sits/lays on the bathroom floor in groggy silence, eyes heavy with sleep near rolling in their sockets as his groggy brain creates a speech bubbles that simply says 'Huh?' Then he'll drag an stumble back to bed and go back to sleep as if he'd never woken up. Even at night I can't piss alone! Still, he usually goes straight back to sleep without a feed unless of course The Husband attempts to 'help' and comes upstairs to chat to him whilst he waits thus pulling him from grogginess and ensuring I have to start the whole bedtime breastfeed shebang all over again. Thanks Husband, Love you too. Still not entirely convinced I'm terribly enthused about the swapping of several night feeds to being stalked.
I'm fantasising about the bottle of Cider that I've had in the fridge for months, or at least I was until I unfortunately remembered it was removed from the fridge to make room for something else and even to one as desperate as I appear to be, warm cider is a little too close to piss in a bottle. Still, I could however use the bottle to beat Peppa Pig into submission, why is she even awake still? Suddenly I'm salivating for a bacon butty.