This is going to be quite a negative blog post, so apologies in advance, and feel free not to read it at all. We're sick. Not a "runny nose but get on with life" sick, but a full-on "feverish, chills, can't sleep, barely walking up the stairs" kind of sick.
The tv's been on all day every day because nobody's able to do much else. I've handed Charlie my old Game Boy to entertain himself because it's easier than trying to think of anything to do with him. I'm only leaving the sofa to go to the toilet, and when I get upstairs I need to rest before I come back down. I get little bursts of energy that fool me that I'm on the mend, then my nose stuffs up and I feel like shit again.
I hate tv, I so hate it. Weird middle-aged adults being over-friendly with strange kids. Idiots smiling at me and trying to sell me stuff. Cooking programmes where they show me how to unroll pastry, top with vegetables and cheese and bake in the oven. That's not even worthy of 2 minutes tv time, but apparently we need to be shown. Robotic toys that will make your child's life happier. The over-stimulating cartoons rendered in such vivid detail that they give me a headache. I think I have sensory processing issues, or is it just the new type of crap that passes for kid's tv?
I could put on a DVD, but that would involve making a decision, getting up, looking for it in the pile of 100 loose DVDs, and waiting around for the machine to load it. Too much work, so I'll sit and bitch about Spongebob instead. I hate Spongebob.
Even typing this, while therapeutic for my brain, is making me aware of the energy I'm wasting moving my fingers so much. Sheesh.
Last night was shite, both children waking to feed as soon as I'd get to sleep, that continued all night, and I was in that feverish state where you don't know if you're hot or cold. I had a scalding hot water bottle for my icy-cold toes, yet I knew I was sweating too. I even wrapped a blanket around my head to keep warm, as I could feel a draught on my head, but every time Noah woke up he'd shout "Mama, Mama" until I took the blanket off. He didn't even like me wearing my fringe back in a hairband today, I suppose I must look strange without my fringe to him. (Charlie never liked my hair in a "towel-hat" after a shower)
Now Noah's ripping apart the stacks of DVDs, sitting on the floor alternately looking at their covers, and up at Spongebob, his face covered in smooshed raspberries and oatmeal, snot running into his mouth. A good mama would go over and wipe that nose. I'm not that good at the moment.
And you know what? I'm not going to give myself a hard time over this. They're with me, they're not crying for anything, that at least is something. So what if I'm not educating them / stimulating their senses / whatever shit an over-achieving mother should be doing when at home with two smallies (jesus, I can't believe I just used that word, I hate that word, so twee)?! I'll be back on form in a few days, limiting their screen time, cooking great meals, easing Charlie into literacy and numeracy, and for now they can roll around covered in raspberries and snot, and watching a yellow rectangle have an identity crisis.