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So I started to write. I had to, my mind was slowly turning into a vegetable mush, much like what I will be soon feeding to my four and half month old bundle of testosterone joy.


Finally, he has dropped off. Overtired. My fault. Put him down ten minutes too late. I've had to let him cry it out and my heart hurts for doing so.

This is what my life is like now – timing my whole existence around sleep cycles and feeding, debating whether the crying pain is wind, crankiness, hunger or boredom. Constantly battling with various emotions and second guessing whether I'm doing the 'right' thing.

Why does it feel like I am the only one with a baby who cries when tired? Sounds silly doesn't it? Yet I am amazed as to how many other babies I have met who just drop off without a murmur. I wouldn't change him. He has character. He is active. A challenge but blessed with an intoxicating personality, regularly showcasing an array of smiles. He is beautiful.

Me, well I'm tired, still. It's been 18 weeks. We have a good night and I'm still tired. I think I'll be tired forever. I worry I've lost the ability to write well and wonder how I will cope back in the workplace. I still have time up my sleeve so I need to write, to vent, to share and to laugh upon reflection.

So here I am, writing during his sleeping times. The sound of the keyboard, the backspace the double space. I'm back. But where to start? What would be interesting? What would be worthwhile?

Please please not another blog or piece about the joys of parenting (insert ray of sunshine here). Not that there's anything wrong with that...it can just give the wrong impression.

New parents gloat about how much of a good time they are having. How their angel doesn't cry when she got her needles (bulldust..really how many eight week old babies don't cry when they have two big needles shoved into their miniature legs?). How they are sleeping for hours and hours of a night time, how feeding is blissful and it came with such ease and how they would do it all again tomorrow. Never any problems. Never.

They haven't cried more tears in four months than in the past 30 years.

Or have they?

Do they actually go home, undress out of their 'good' clothes depicting an image of happiness and confidence?

Do they throw on their sloppy joes and slippers, wipe their makeup off and collapse on the couch for another session of feeding, screaming, settling, playing and supervising?

Do they?

If they're lucky, they might catch a beautiful smile that in a split second can relay enough positive energy to help you forget any negative connotation that comes with being a sleep deprived new parent.


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