In the Space of a Breath

I am tired. And I'm meant to be having a nap. The Husband has just taken both boys off my hands so I can rest after a lovely morning that shouldn't have been stressful at all, but somehow felt it as we got in the car to drive back home.

Daddy & @yasminannephoto getting Tristan ready for another shoot. http://t.co/ZLtXQ4QPnq
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) January 23, 2014

I'm judging the parents who let their kid appear on CBeebies in Crocs. Who let that happen? #mumlife
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) January 23, 2014

See, my friend Yasmin is a photographer and we got her to do a newborn shoot of our newly finished family of four this morning. She was brilliant: putting on Finding Nemo, pulling out toys and books, letting E have a go outside in the garden; carrying, rocking, and cuddling my littlest boy so he would settle for some cute photos...and then taking all the photos she could of my men and me. I barely had to do anything other than pose, feed E snacks, eat cookies, and be patiently urinated on as I breastfed on the couch. The experience was a lovely one, and I'd do it again, no questions asked...but I suddenly found myself tired and short-tempered as we drove home.

Two weeks and he's already changed so much!

E was asking for sweeties, T was screaming because his binky had fallen out, and rather than fishing in my purse or reaching around in my seat to address either of these concerns, I clenched my hands in my lap and closed my eyes as I tried not to yell at two people who very much did not deserve it.

"Do you want me to stay home this afternoon and take the boys so you can nap?" Oh, sweet lord, yes.

I let out I breath I didn't think I'd been holding and just felt utterly relieved. I wouldn't be wrangling a hungry newborn and a toddler who had missed his nap all by myself! Though he must be as sleep-deficient as I am right now, my husband is a saint. We are technically at the end of his fortnight's worth of paternity leave, but he's accrued enough time to stay with me for another day before heading back into the office. If only I could now not feel guilty about my desire to cry, eat hash browns, and fall asleep watching Sherlock reruns.

So now, covered in milk, milk sick, wee, and tears from my sons, I sit in bed, torn between being so tired I could weep, and wanting to unwind by reading design blogs. I can hear Owen Wilson as Lightning McQueen shilling Rusteeze Medicated Bumper Ointment on the TV in the next room as I look around at the mess in my bedroom. There are clothes and muslins that desperately need washing, presents that need Thank You notes written, junk mail to sort through, and two half-empty packets of paracetemol on the dresser next to a pacifier in its sterilising box. There is dusting to be done, rubbish to be taken out to the skip, carpets to be vacuumed, and post-natal exercises to do. Right now, the knowledge of all these things threatens to drag me under like James Bond falling through a riverbed in the title sequence to Skyfall.

Yasmin and the Husband are a brilliant, baby-posing team

So, for the moment, I will live a fantasy. Two gorgeous Englishmen - tall, pale, dark-haired and blue-eyed - will save me from the utter exhaustion of even the best days of motherhood: my wonderful husband...and Benedict Cumberbatch. Bring on the Sherlock, baby.