the post where I will not mention the dog hair

Am sitting in bed trying not to wake the tiny sleeping girl beside me who screamed for most of the day, unknown reasons, but doesn't seem ill... just..... annoyed about something (can 11 week old babies get annoyed? This one seems to). I am sitting here with laptop, papers and urgent toy catalogues all over (groan) and I have a bowl of home made fudge which I am eating with a spoon. With a spoon. Yeah. Just digging right on in there. I didn't even bother to pour it into a mold and then slice into neat little squares to share with everyone else. I poured it into a cereal bowl, knowing all along I'd eat it this way. I feel a little bit sick. That's what happens when you pig out on fudge, at night, in bed with a cardigan on (the thrilling highs of my life exposed).

I have a had a horrible day. I am really scrunching up my eyes trying to find some nice moments in there to share and obliterate the bad stuff. There were some. The pink sky this evening. The quick jaunt into town with The Man I cried down the phone to and who came home super early. I bought a teeny wooden rattle with a bell inside for Baby Angel Girl who has no baby rattles... what happened to the millions I bought my other babies? I do not remember where I have stashed them or perhaps I gave them away. My memory is filled with holes, like dropped stitches in a sort of rubbishy unfinished knitted sweater. This is the start of a new rattle collection then. Making it the one and only gift bought so far this year. That was the highlight of the day. Or maybe the super fast solo dog walk with screaming babe strapped to body? That was pretty nice once she fell asleep on me and I got to breathe in the sharp cold air and look hard at the twiggy trees against the fading light.

But the rest of the day? I am not sure how I will get through more of the same (should there be some... almost inevitable). I found myself a crying self-pity mess earlier, 2/3 of the day gone, screaming baby, me not even dressed and struggling to even put socks on because my hands held the screaming baby. Dog unwalked, other children in various states of dress, house a tip (did I mention the frickin dog hair? god I hate that animal some days, I do, there, I am mean) no lunch made (baby crying in arms and volume ups when I place her down for ten seconds). I feed her, she pukes. I put her in sling she head butts against me and screams. I feed her again, she pukes. I strip her clothes off desperate in case something weird is sticking in her. She screams because I am making her cold. I lie down to feed her on the bed and hear two children arguing, really really loudly. Maybe they are hungry. The dog decides to shred up the toilet roll tubes Esmé and I have been saving to make Christmas crackers with. All over the rug I didn't yet vacum but which makes me mad because now it's really necessary, not just passable to untrained eyes. Did we do any home educating today? Ha. What a joke.

I shouted at people because crying babies make me jingly jangly with tense nerves. Bizarrely I tried to swap one bigger bookcase in my bedroom for a smaller one in Isaac's room and of course had to abandon it halfway through with shit toys and books piled all over because Baby Angel got tired of waiting for me to pick her up from Isaac's bed. I then realised Isaac's bed was wet because his hot water bottle leaked everywhere. I strip the bed with one hand: I do everything with one hand, don't you know, it's the new way of doing things, catch up everyone, two hands are so last season! As is keeping ones eyes open for as many hours as possible. Not only is sleep over rated it's practically a forgotten thing, being awake is The New Black. One handed shenanigans is the even newer black. Using the birth ball post birth for sitting and bouncing fractious babies is the best thing since the invention of sliced bread, the telephone, or instagram.

I am not even remotely finished yet. I have not brought you up to speed with the rest of my day. The bits where I wail to my children that I am sending them to school because they are too crazy and unhelpful. The bits where I cry down the phone to my dh that there is no one on earth who I can call other than him to come home and help me, which is depressing in and of it's self, and that we will have to get rid of the dog because it's driving me insane. Am I depressing and boring you yet? That's ok, stop reading any time, there is no gun pointing at you. But I am boring myself and need to go online shopping if any child wants a Christmas resembling Christmas yk?

Needless to say I do not know how long I can function for 12 hours a day alone. To care for a tiny baby. To care for two other children all day and then a fourth a bit later. Provide some sort of education or activities or outings or, well anything. To set down meals at regular intervals and decent snacks. To keep the house from silently filling with dog hair (honestly I think at night sometimes Ginny invites over some more black doggie pals and they shimmy about all over the house scattering hair like bad fairy dust, in the morning it gathers with every gust and draught of air - plenty in this house- and scitter like tumble weed around our legs. Up to our knees it feels some days. I swear This baby will grow up watching hair balls instead of real balls rolling around for her amusement. Any one want a really hair shedding dog that needs 2 hours walking a day to keep it sane? Go on, you know you do. Sort of kidding. Maybe.) And yeah, to walk the dog each day. To clothe and feed myself.... it is like every day I wake to mountain I have to crawl up before bed time. I never quite reach the summit though and go to bed with a stretching mountain range in every direction all around me. There is no sleep to be had in this bed though. Because there is a baby wishing to be fed in it. I doze. I jerk awake and my mind fills with thoughts best left till' day time. Mainly of things I have not done. The to do list I wrote in my mind a few weeks back with one thing ticked off (and it was probably 'write a to'do list'). I hear the dog downstairs doing things; dog hair shedding party time, eat the cat food time, lie on the sofa while no one looks time and I get mad at it, silently in bed but dare not get out of bed in case I wake the baby, and in any case I am too tired and can't really be bothered.

But my bed is warm. There is a fire downstairs and children laughing below me. I have a sleeping peaceful baby. I am tired but my sweet sweet kind and lovely Man brought me food and tea and a hot water bottle. There are things to be thankful for in a world of chaos, and in my own smaller world of chaos. And truly I am . I am just so worn out too. So frayed. Did I mention the dog hair? Did I? I'd like to talk about it again, because it's a topic quite dear/annoying to me right now. But I fear I may have mentioned it already. Plus it's sort of boring to read about, I get that, and just basically goes with the territory of dog owning. I wonder did I not realise there would be dog hair? Maybe I glossed over it when thinking ahead. I do that often.

It's time to carry the fudge back to the fridge. To get a cup of nettle tea and an apple to negate the fudge damage (at least in my mind anyway). To watch something on my laptop totally unrelated to my life (something cheery I think, The Killing perhaps...) and hope for better things tomorrow....