Pumped out

Put the needle on the record when the drum beat goes like this. Pump up the volume. Pump up the volume. Pump up the volume. Dance! Dance!
Pump Up The Volume – M|A|R|R|S

Proved a few things to myself, and maybe to others, and had a good time doing it.

I no longer have any hesitation about feeling old. I am 40. And relishing it. I’m also quite proud to have hosted two parties in two days this weekend, and survived. We proved that 90s dance music really was the best; that everyone likes a sausage; that even if you are working really hard to pace yourself all evening, you can’t avoid the consequences of being plied with sambucca on the way out of the bar. And then we proved that Lyndon isn’t quite the bad weather omen we thought he was, and that 15 children really can be occupied all afternoon on a trampoline – without anyone needing to go to A&E either. We also proved that us oldies find it pretty tiring if we don’t get in until 1:30am, and are woken by out littlies at 6.

On the subject of tiredness, I also proved conclusively that, despite feeling much better than even a few weeks ago, I still have limits. By Sunday evening I was back in the familiar, if less often visited, land of Canhardlygetintobed. And yesterday, having spent the day looking after Lyndon (the hokey-cokey at playgroup very nearly finished me off), I was beyond even mild conversation by the time Marisa and the big boys got home. I had to retire to bed again by about 7pm.

I continue to find my experiences of fatigue very difficult to describe. It is always as though suddenly – when the adrenaline that has sustained me wears off – I am simply empty. Physically and mentally void. It’s not even about sleep, it’s about nothing at all. Still, it’s getting easier to handle – I made it through most of yesterday before wiping out, and I was up with Lyndon at 6am again today. Only a couple of months ago this would have been 2-days-in-bed stuff.

Rest is a rare and precious commodity in a young household. Last night all 3 of the children, in turn, woke me up for one reason or another. The most pithy explanation of a problem was from Gyles.
“Ben snoring,” he said, “is doing my head in”.
And you mine, at 4am, my dear little boy.

Can you feel the passion, running through my veins? Driving me insane, running through my veins
Passion – Amen! UK