Today was one of those days that started out pretty awesome and ended up totally poopster.

I began the day by waking up at 5am. As usual. Thank you, Darling Fetus, for prodding me awake at such an ungodly hour. I wrestled with sleep until 6am when I gave up. I have averaged four hours each night for the last couple of weeks and things are starting to get a little hairy in my head. But instead of thinking “Christ this day’s gonna blow” I decided that the four hours I had got last night was totally enough to get me through to Budsie’s nap time at 1pm when I too could fall asleep. This nap was a sure thing, I reasoned, as Budsie had been up until 10pm the previous night (night time travelling still beats early mornings). So I caught up on some news, mapped out my day’s to-do list, and when the kidlet woke up, I responded to his “Hi Mummy” with a cheery “Hallo Budsie Bumpkin!” This day was going to rock, I decided, and armed with coffee and a plan I truly believed this would be the case.

Things went fine until nap time. We did crafts, looked at rocks, had a fun reading time on the potty, and ate tasty snacks and lunch. By nap time, we were both tuckered out. But 20 minutes into nap time, things turned ugly. I was just about to fall asleep when Budsie started screaming. He never screams, so I feared the worst. When I went into his room, he was pointing at the ceiling, completely terrified. There was nothing there. I STILL don’t know what might have been there, or if it was just a nightmare. But whatever it was, it cursed the day. There was no consoling the kidlet and after 30 minutes I gave up and we read books. Except he didn’t want to read books. Or sing songs. Or play sports. Or play with puzzles, play-doh or crayons. What he did want to do was yell “WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY NONONONONONONONONO WHYWHYWHYWHY WHY NONONONONO” and giggle insanely. For 45 minutes. Then he decided it was time to bang his head against everything. And then to throw things. And then to burst into tears. By the time Fialonia showed up for a quick visit at around 4pm, I didn’t recognize my child and I certainly didn’t want to be anywhere near him. All of my positive energy had been drained and I suddenly felt wholly negative about life in general. I missed sleep. I missed Life Before Children. I was overcome with horror at the thought that I was already well on my way to another one of these things. What the HELL was I thinking? These thoughts turned to more irritating things such as why don’t I own a car? Why does it take me 3 hours to do what it takes car people 15 minutes to pull off? Because I don’t work – but why am I not working out of the home? When did this become my plan? What the hell am I doing with my life?

And blah diddy blah blah.

Now I find myself completely deflated and drained. My wonderful husband came home and I could barely muster the positive energy to give him a hug. I retreated to our bedroom as soon as dinner was eaten and here I sit feeling vomity (Darling Fetus does not seem to grasp the concept of second trimester), haggard, and completely sorry for myself. It is absolutely amazing how lack of sleep + pregnancy hormones can really fuck with a person’s day and general attitude towards life.

Thankfully, tomorrow is another day. And by the looks of it, the PQ isn’t necessarily going to get what they wanted in tonight’s election. Which pleases me.