I am so tired. So very, very tired.
Not tired that a good nights sleep will fix. Or a year of good nights sleep for that matter. Tired in my bones. Tired in my soul. Tired of coping. Tired of having to cope.
I don't have a choice, I don't want a choice. If there was a choice I would only choose to cope. But I am so so so tired.
Harriet has an MRI scan tomorrow. She has to be asleep for it. I am worried about getting to the hospital on my own. I am worried about Will going to his child minder on a day he usually spends with me. I am worried about getting Harriet to sleep. I am worried about her staying asleep. I am dreading seeing her tiny body in that huge, noisy machine. I am dreading the tantrum Will will inevitably throw when I pick him up as punishment for leaving him.
I am tired from having to pretend that all of these things will be OK.
Shaun has an operation to remove more skin from his calf on Thursday. I am worried about it. I am worried about the general anaesthetic. I am worried about not being able to be there with him. I am worried about him coming round on his own in hospital. My heart breaks when I think about how badly I wish I could be there holding his hand. I worry about how much pain he will be in, about how out of it the anaesthetic will make him, about how sick he will feel for days afterwards. I am worried about his two week recovery. I am worried about explaining to Will why Daddy can't walk, run, play football. I am worried about how upset Will is going to be about the whole situation. I am worried that I will be neglecting Harriet because I am spending so much time worrying about Shaun and Will.
Do you see?
I am so, so, so very, very tired.