I have three small bodies spread across my bed, and I am awake with nobody to talk to except the dogs if I cared to join their midnight garden prowl. They’re sniffing out a rat, I hope, and not an intruder. It’s the dogs and not an intruder, I hope again, who set the alarm off. It’s the shrilling shriek of that alarm and not the sound of music that woke me and left me wondering about the nightlife out there.
All seems OK, and I’ve explained any fear away as this being the inevitable alarm of single parenting. Whenever alone at home with my children, I’m woken at least once by the alarm. A rude awakening, and a reminder that I am solely responsible for my children’s safety.
Now awake, I have the lovely luxury of the house to myself for the blissful moments I can keep awake.
Sleep is good. But time awake alone should be better. It’s staying awake which is hard. I thought my falling asleep at 8pm was because I have nobody to chat to. Nobody with whom to share dinner.
I relish time on my own. Hanging out in my house. Sorting through my stuff. But somehow this week my husband is away, I’ve done none of that. Single parenting is way too exhausting.
Nevermind mornings, those are long ago. Evenings are an intensity of immediate needs.
“I want juice”. “No not juice, milk”. “I need to do homework”. “Now”. “Bottie mummy”. “You forgot to send my library with me to school”, “ I don’t like this”. “I want that”.
Did I mention how intense this is?
“I have an itchy throat”. “A sore tummy.” “My pet ant is sick”. “I am hungry”. “I am not hungry”.
And then the last instruction: “Bring my bug catcher in before you go to bed“.
My only instruction “Sleep” is finally obeyed. No reflection on my superb parenting just the inevitable end to their busy days.
Exhausting. And damn that bug catcher is still out there in the night.

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