Today has been one of those days when you start early, the saving grace being that you know you’ll get to leave work early to compensate and see some benefit for your early start … and then actually you don’t leave until a late version of your normal time, and with a left undone list longer than it was when you arrived at your desk!
Add in the joys of insomnia last night (I did consider writing today about the wonders of time in the insomniac universe but realised anyone who has been there knows already, and those who haven’t would find it deeply self-indulgent and bizarre) and as ten o’clock rolls around I am exhausted.
This kind of time is yet another of those occasions when I wonder what the future holds and hope resilience will fall like manna from above at placement (should I get that far of course!).
And yet …
I formed a while ago the view that fearing and worrying about the hard bits of parenting- especially single parenting – and single adoptive parenting in particular – was a sign, paradoxically, of hope.
To know that dealing with an angry hurt child when I am tired will be difficult: that’s true. To fear the draining battleground that even basic self-care becomes when one is ill, and wonder how I will manage to respond well to clingy chatter, let alone shrieking laughter or screams and tears, when I have a headache craving darkness and silence: that’s wise, surely.
I am lucky: generally I am healthy, fit, robust, able to cope with poor sleep (though I’m guessing this will be tested!) and usually, when I need to, able to find a second (or third, or fourth) wind.
Yet even the luckiest of us have tired days, impatient days, not-feeling-so-great days.
Somehow though I hope that knowing now that on those days it will be hard will help me when they happen. The hard times pass now: they will pass in the future too. And then maybe, just maybe, the following day I’ll be the one shrieking with laughter (which at the very least has to be a better ambition than to be the one showcasing the screams and tears)!