My collection of Flashes or short short stories based on thoughts, observations and experiences!
Can you drown in tears?
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(Colic and reflux) + (Teething and early onset terrible twos) = a shit tone of crying + many sleepless nights. This is currently the equation of our life. I always hated maths. Still do.
Apparently, one can drown in as little as 2 inches of water… in all honesty being a mammy, there are days I don’t even need water in order to drown, but anyway. So, working on that basis, considering the volume of tears shed per hour, per baby, and admittedly myself too, at the moment, I reckon we should invest in some life jackets and buoyancy aids of some description. We’re bordering on a tsunami here and I’m really not sure how likely survival is for us. A few weeks ago, my boobs would have kept the TiT-anic afloat, never mind a small family, and in a way I suppose they kind of did, as I was a similar size to that of said Titanic. But, they have since dried up and are now more saggy tripping hazard than bouncy buoyant inflated balloons, and so prove more perilous than protective. This is unfortunate because at the current rate of tear production in our house, by the end of the week, we are going to be living in an aquarium not a bungalow. It’s a pity the tears wouldn’t dry up instead of my boobs… typical. We may have to look into employing David Hasslehof as a manny... or not, the boys would end up crying in slow motion, yikes.
The forecast is bleak. Predictions are for continuous downpours and heavy flooding for the foreseeable… I wonder if that’s what happened Noah… did he actually have two boys under 16 months too and that’s why he built his ark? Hmm.
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Assholes.
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The saying goes that ‘boys wreck your house, girls wreck your head’. I’ve just recently become a mam of two, and although I’m very much in love with both of my beautiful boys, I can safely say that currently they are wrecking both our house and our heads. A lot. At this point I’m not sure which is damaged more, my herringbone floor or my sanity.
Over the last few weeks they have been particularly difficult, each in different ways but both of equal measure. I’m convinced they do it on purpose. Deliberately obnoxious. Deliberately obtuse. Deliberately loud. Cute, but like a hoor not a puppy. Usually, when we are most vulnerable, most stressed, most depleted and especially when we are short on time. We can have nothing. They ruin everything. They smell our fear and see the weakness in our eyes, the weakness in our souls, then go for the jugular. They are merciless and brutal. To be really blunt, and honest, babies are assholes. Sometimes. Well a lot of the time in fact, usually several hundred times a day, and anyone who says otherwise is either a liar or not a parent. Our 15 month old son has developed a very special skill as part of his arse-nal. If he was a super hero, or indeed a super villain, which is probably more likely, his super power would be the ability to poo at the most inconvenient of times. His timing is impeccable. Every time. It’s as if he can do it on demand. He uses his asshole to be an asshole, and he knows it. What is it about poo that boys find so funny?
Like any asshole, babies force us to deal with some real shit, usually on a daily basis. They are sensitive, easily irritated, do not respond well to being pushed, can explode without notice and require proper looking after, especially in the early days post-partum. But, also like any asshole, although a bit of a pain in the backside, they are necessary for our survival and we just can’t live without them.
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Bleedin wrecked.
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Six weeks postpartum. The bleeding only stopped 2 weeks ago and now it’s started again. Bloody hell. The joys. Between 2 babies and myself there’s literally always someone who needs their butt changed. Nappy or pad, there’s not much difference really, it amounts to the same thing. It’s draining. In every sense. I am quite literally bleedin wrecked.
This stage after birth is like postnatal limbo. The initial novelty of being a new mam has worn off, for family and friends. Phone calls, visits and casserole drop offs have dried up, much like my skin, hair and nails. They have gone back to their own day to day lives and we are left, chalky complexioned and overwhelmed, to fend for ourselves. Yet physically, mentally and emotionally to us, as said new mam, it’s still like it only happened yesterday.
Some days are not so bad. For whatever reason things run relatively smoothly, luring you into a false sense of security and tricking you into thinking you have some sort of handle on things. Not in control or anything, you’d never be crazy enough to think that, but maybe not drowning quite as quickly as previous days. The universe, however, can smell this sense of ‘winning’ at life, like a dog can smell fear, or a baby can smell hot coffee and so, must intervene. I’m convinced the universe and my babies are in cahoots, the ultimate tag team. Any success must be countered with failure. No victory, regardless of how small, can go unpunished. The imbalance must be corrected and we must know our place. Cue 24 hour shit storm, quite often both literally and figuratively. It is usually on these days that your body likes to join in the fun and throws some delights of it’s own into the mix, just for the craic like. Such treats might include; extreme hot flushes and/or mood swings, hysterical outbursts of crying for no apparent reason, your entire insides falling out of your vagina, an immense pressure in your butt, like you might shit out an elephant at any minute or, a personal favourite of mine, gee bone crushing sneezes. If you’re really lucky you may get to experience more than one, if not all of these, at the same time. All the while trying not to take it personally that not a stitch of clothes you have fits and that certain parts of your body now have to be tucked in in order to be contained… Granted, it’s such a magical time, but fuckin hell, it’s bloody exhausting.
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Can you die from sleep deprivation?
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Pretty sure I fell asleep on the toilet the other day. Even in my hardcore festival days I wasn’t awake or unwashed for this many days straight. Don’t think I ever fell asleep on the toilet then either, surprisingly. A new level of tiredness has been reached, a level of tiredness I never knew a human could survive. If this even is survival, I’m not entirely sure I’m actually still alive. I definitely look, feel and smell like a corpse. There’s no filter in the world that could save me and make this shit look even remotely good. When the kids grow up they'll probably wonder who actually raised them coz there’ll be no photo evidence of me, I refuse to have this visually documented. I often wonder who are these people on social media who have small kids but still manage to have their hair and makeup done, wearing a cute vomit free outfit all fresh faced and smiling in their perfectly staged photo. How do they have the time? It takes me eight hours to find a chance to pee and then I fall asleep.
The other night I asked my other half, if it were possible to die from a lack of sleep. It was a genuine question coz I thought I was on the way out. We googled it. Apparently, although rare, prolonged sleep deprivation can be fatal. ‘Prolonged’, such a vague and non commital description. What exactly is a quantified definition of prolonged? Days? Weeks? Years? Somewhere in between? Coz I’m fairly certain it’s terminal here and my days are numbered. So, although the answer is technically yes you can, it would appear no parent has actually passed away from sleep deprivation. Well, not yet anyway, but there’s always a first time for everything. Sleep deprivation is a legitimate form of torture and has been used as an interrogation technique for years. As a mother of two under fifteen months I’m not sure who my babies work for or what information they think I’m hiding but I’m on the cusp of breaking and am willing to tell them absolutely anything they want to know. It could only have been a baby who came up with the idea, it’s just cruel enough. Babies are mean. They’re smart, and they're mean. Just when you think you can’t go on any longer, they throw you a bone, a few minutes of blissful, undisturbed sleep, just enough to keep you alive, so that you can in turn keep them alive… selfish, mean and smart… but beautiful and loveable… obviously.
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