‘Writer’s Block’ or ‘Sleep Deprivation’?

Sometimes it’s hard to know what to write and sometimes it’s just that a computer screen is staring back at you, with endless reading possibilities and you just feel like you’re adding noise rather than substance.

Yet my notebook is full of scribbles, lists and notes. Perhaps it’s harder to commit to a blog when I feel like most of my thoughts should be private, I’ve not done anything to be proud of,  and I don’t have much to share with the world that’s particularly unique.

My life is pretty ploddy alongy at the moment (thanks autocorrect but I’d like to keep my awful spellings and made up words… My notebook doesn’t judge) but I suppose in a good way. Tot is sleeping slightly more often, or should I say for longer in a row and mostly I feel human. There are the odd few days when I’m running on 2 hour bursts of shut eye and coffee. Those days aren’t very pretty.

Those days involve tears in the car to work and spending lunchtime trying to ‘get things done’ so I feel like I have SOME control over life. Even if it is just my work life. Inevitably I end up going around in circles because I’m so damn tired I can’t think straight. So blogging has not really been on the top of the priority list.

Baby rearing really is an experiment into how long sleep deprivation takes to break you. How the hell anyone has two un-sleeping children is beyond me. The apparent logic (of my super hormonal self pre-4 month sleep regression) ‘getting it over and done with’ in terms of having another child has disappeared.

As usual, I see my mother was right; a 6 year age gap doesn’t sound like such a ludicrous idea. Maybe we’ll try and do another baby when I’m 30. That doesn’t sound so bad… She’ll basically be at school by then I think. Nevermind not wanting to feel like we’ve just got our lives back and then BAM being hit with newborn stuff again… That’s bullshit, we’re never getting our lives back!! Whatever that really means anyway.

I don’t think I even really want to eat Turkish meat and pizza in Dalston three nights a week and the rest have beans on toast or similar with a side of cider as we’re too cool/lazy/work-y to be bothered to cook.

No, my life involves coo-ing at our cute baby, feeling smug at how efficient I am at work, how little I now have to do for a very similar pay and generally thinking up batty ideas to entertain myself and a toddler. Oh and applying lots of concealer when I don’t want to scare the general public.

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