I’VE become one of those parents who gets violently angry when any childless person dares to complain of tiredness.
“Did you just say what I think you said?” I found myself hissing at someone a few weeks ago. “YOU! – who could have an unbroken eight hours of sleep any time you like! – YOU SAID YOU’RE TIRED?”
The boy this was aimed at took a small step backwards, his smile only wavering slightly (fair play to him).
“No, you’re right mrs, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he backtracked nervously.
“And if you’ll just sign for the parcel I’ll be able leave you in peace. To not sleep.”
I’ve well and truly become the mum who, with crazed eyes hidden behind matted, unwashed hair, will yell jealously and indiscriminately at anybody who looks vaguely well-rested.
(In my defence, I have a baby who refuses to sleep for longer than 30 minutes at a time – rage, caffeine and sugar are all that get me through the day sometimes.)
Still, it’s Christmas – and surely if there’s ever a time to relax, regroup and show goodwill to all delivery men it’s now.
Tis the season, in my opinion, to hunker down at home with the heating cranked up and the mince pies and Baileys a-flowing.
And, more importantly, with Smithy off work, it’s time for him to get up in the morning with the baby so I can lie in bed and sleep. Possibly all day.
This thought alone has turned me positively zen-like.
Never mind that everybody we know wants to be a part of ‘baby’s first Christmas’, which means we’ve spent the last week rushing all over the North West visiting various relatives.
Never mind that, on ‘mad friday’, it transpired that Smithy hadn’t done any of his Christmas shopping, so we ended up battling with a pram through a heaving Manchester city centre trying to track down Auntie Margaret’s favourite jelly sweets and a scarf in a very specific shade (red but not too red) for Uncle Jim.
Never mind that in the last day-and-a-half I’ve had to take the baby to four Christmas parties that she was invited to.
(Apparently I double-up as both a walking milk bar and a plus-one).
It’s Christmas – and just as soon as everything calms down, maybe by Christmas Eve, or after Christmas Day, or possibly once New Year’s Eve is out of the way, I will be sleeping like nobody has ever slept before.
And that point I promise I will stop scaring delivery boys.
Article first published in The Westmorland Gazette on December 24, 2015