The Crazy Ramblings From A Mother Of 2 Little Boys

It's hard being a mum. Right now (instead of getting some much needed sleep) I am lying awake on my couch, listening for the familiar screams and sobs that verbalise my almost-three-year-old son's night terrors. It's hard to keep my eyelids from drooping, from cuddling into the cushions, turning my phone off and accepting every mother's favourite time of day: bed time. But *sigh* he has already yelled out once, so I'm on high alert for what might come next. It is also hard, not to be able to help my eldest son. To do nothing more than stroke his hair and say 'shhhhhhhh, mummy's here' for what feels like hours while he kicks and screams and thrashes his body around his bed in sheer terror. Nothing feels more like motherhood is kicking you in the gut than hearing your child crying in fear and pain. Nights like these make me feel like I should be institutionalised. It's the waiting. Waiting to hear something to signal go time. The obsessive paranoia of listening for my son teams up with my insomnia to wage a war against my mind and body. As soon as I drift off, I hear a noise that startles me awake.. and then I think every twitch and creak is coming from my son's room so sleep evades me. It really is a vicious cycle. It's usually 4am before I shut my eyes for the last time every night. Maybe I'm not slowly going insane. Maybe I already am...

I had a panic attack in the classroom while he ran off to play without saying goodbye. Yep, cried like a bitch