Autumn down here is beautiful this year, with cool mornings - just chilly enough for a cuddle to feel good - and clear, clean days, sun shining and sometimes a breeze to cool me down as I prune the fruit trees. It's beautiful but the edge of my enjoyment is blunted through being tired, tired, tired. Two kids, three breast feeds in the night, and Nell's early morning play time are taking their toll. Lu has been a champion sleeper since she was about eight months old and I'd forgotten the dragging, nagging need for sleep that comes along with new babies. In the last week I have: stepped into the bath fully clothed; started to walk out of the pool change rooms without any clothes; forgotten the words to "Twinkle, twinkle little star"; cut, bumped and scraped myself in dozens of different ways and places; and let go this blog in favour of staring into space and reading secondhand Miss Marple mysteries (forgetting the characters, the ending and once, the murder as soon as my eyes have left the words). It's a good thing I'm not planning to operate heavy machinery.
Perhaps the hardest part is the the loss of my own, already very limited time. The girls' routines don't match up and so my first moments to myself come at 7.30 at night. Then, there are no conversations about bumps, diggers, babies and trains, no child clinging to me, no meals to make, dogs to walk or tantrums to ignore. But I'm needing to go to bed at about 8.30 pm and so I've got a window of an hour in which to do something just for me (Al just doesn't get a look in anymore). With back to work looming six weeks down the track, I'm planning on some me time in February 2009. Should be fun.