Mutterings of a Fool

Man, Dad, Runner, Chief dog walker


The lady of the manor and I are tired. Knackered. Exhausted. Done. If we were a steak we’d be well done, left on the coals until slightly shrivelled. We’re physically tired but also mentally tired. Tired of not having evenings without needing to resettle Rupert at least 3 times. Tired of the big ones waking up at 5.30am every day and having a meltdown if we tell them to go back to bed. Tired of needing all our energy just to tread water and not ever make progress. Perhaps most importantly tired of not having time for us, we don’t go out in the evening because we don’t want a baby sitter to have to try to resettle Rupert.

I love my crazy gang and I LOVE being a dad, my favourite moment of every day is opening the door in the evening and hearing the shouts of DADDY as Matilda runs to meet me, but this past few weeks has pushed us close to the edge. Rupert has had the triple whammy of reflux, teething and a cold. We’ve average 4 hours sleep a night for the past week or so and it has not been pretty. Going to work and trying to engage my brain to deal with meetings and email has been a challenge, although I’d say it was an achievement not to have nodded off at any point.

Clearly none of this is Rupert’s fault, I’m sure he’d much rather sleep all night than waking up gagging with the acid from his reflux, but when you spend 40 minutes rocking him to sleep it doesn’t always feel that way. I found myself a few times shouting at him in the middle of the night ‘just shut up and go to sleep’. How ridiculous is that? To be shouting at an 8 month old baby who most likely has no clue what you are saying. When he did finally drop off I’d creep back to bed racked with guilt for being such an uncaring bastard.

The face of innocence

The face of innocence

The glimmer of hope right now is that last night was better, we actually got a block of 4 hours sleep. 4 hours! Hilarious to be celebrating such a small amount of sleep but it really makes a difference. He is now the proud owner of 2 big teeth (4 months earlier than his siblings) and his cold is abating, who knows when his reflux will go away. Although if one more person tells me it’ll stop when he’s eating I’ll shove the leftovers from his 3 meals a day in their face. Same for the ones that say ‘he’s a big boy, bet he sleeps well’, such old wives tales.

If anyone has any top tips for dealing with reflux please keep them to yourself.


  1. We had a 2am deadline. Before it was one on duty, after the other. Worked, but bloody hell, it’s knackering.

    Feel for you both. xx

  2. I remember what that was like (and am sure I’m going to get a reminder of it in a few months’ time too!) so you have my full sympathy.

    It’s completely normal to shout in frustration though, so don’t feel too bad about it. Show me a parent who’s never lost their rag with their young child and I’ll show you a liar!

    Good luck mate. 🙂

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