Of wee and The Sleep Bandit

The bloody cat is incredibly close to being put in the microwave. I caught her pissing up the bath side and on a towel, the pesky house dwelling little shit. She usually does this when on heat and it is the sole reason she is barred from the lounge. However, judging by the significant lack of wailing and yowling like a wanton whore whilst rawling around in readers wives style I'm thinking she's doing it more out of spite.

Anti bacterial wipes, tea tree oil, fresh lemons (allegedly a deterrent) and even bloody lynx spray later and the house still hums of nasty l'eau de cat piss. Great. Just dandy.

If only that was the extent of my woe, if only I tell you.

Then comes The Toddlers latest antics as his role as a trainee sanity assassin.  Having been virtually dry during the day for several weeks he has decided to piss on the floor. Huge great big Willy floods. Despite being dry at nap times and virtually dry during the night.  Trying to ignore it and pretending to not be even slightly perturbed as I adopt that irritating high pitched mummy voice through gritted teeth 'oh dear darling, nevermind, mummy will just clean this up off the floor because we will wee in the potty or toilet next time won't we?' Whilst my internal narrator hisses 'for fuck sake, are you trying to piss me off, that is just vile you cretinous toddler?' This is combined with returning to type and waking every 60-120minutes throughout the night lately.

Then came Friday, Friday was supposed to be trampoline day. Both sets of grandparents clubbed together for Thing One and Thing Two's birthdays and bought them a surprise present to share, an 8ft trampoline. We have purposely been stashing it at The Grandparents so we could erect it on Friday which marks the middle point between their birthdays. So what happens Thursday? Thing One hurts his ankle resulting in a trip to A&E on Friday. Bugger. He has to apparently 'rest' it for two to three weeks and even I'm not mean enough to give him a trampoline when he can't use it. However, if he keeps being a little sod, my stance on this could very well change.

Even the rain is wrong. Rather than pelting it down rhythmically its all crappy and just a constant hiss of sheer bloody wetness that won't even lull you to sleep.

That's assuming you are lucky enough to get any sleep and just so we're clear, if you do....I don't much like you at present. I'm neither compassionate nor nice. Upon hearing The Husband snoring all oblivious in blissful slumber downstairs on the sofa, whilst I stew in a sleep deprived homicidal psychosis, rather then be happy for The Husband, I have to sit on my hands to prevent myself stumbling downstairs to pull out his eyelashes and hold a match to his toe hair.

However according to The Husband he has no iota of sympathy as I 'choose' to breastfeed and cosleep so thus being so, I therefore choose to have no sleep or at the very least deserve it. 

My children made me ugly. Never mind beauty sleep, any would be nice.

It's a good job the little sleep bandits are cute.