It happened at 3.14pm.
I called my mother – who lives in the next state – at work and asked (but silently pleaded) for her to come and help me for a few days next week.
Although she is busy (it’s Ash Wednesday next week – or kick-off for Christianity’s 40 Day countdown to Easter, and that’s kind of important to her work) she said she will come, because that’s the kind of mum she is.
I haven’t let on this week, but I am still unwell, I am exhausted, and Riley’s waking every 1.5-2 hours in the night is doing me in. I heave myself through a day. I am not enjoying life much. I am not enjoying my children as much as I’d like to because they’ve both been sick this week and I should be worrying about them.
I rely on Adam, and he does not like that much because he’s tired too. The weather’s been stinking hot again and we’re all getting cabin fever.
Normally I wouldn’t even call her, because she is busy (she is always busy) and I am way too proud to even admit things have gotten this bad. But they have. Call me a sook if you will, Lord knows that’s what I call myself, but I’m calling it how I see it.
I have received emails from people saying to me how nasty I am that I have practiced controlled crying in the past (which is interesting as I didn’t think I HAD even discussed it before) and now I anticipate even more because that’s what’s going to happen with Riley. Very. Soon.
Because something bad will happen if I do nothing for much longer.
