Tiredness goes from a creep to a sprint by the end of the day. Shoulders slumping; feet shuffling. The twilight hours in the last week of a long school term dragged even more. So it’s understandable that grumpiness came with…right? The frustration of bed time so near and yet there are still things to achieve. The foot stamping started as things go awry. It’s all a bit too hard; taking too long; too tired; too sore. Had enough. A tantrum is coming. Boom…there it is. But this is neither of the kids. It is me.

Being a carer is getting harder. She is bigger-heavier-stronger. I am older and in more pain more frequently. The combination isn’t pretty. As parents most of us mourn the passing of babyhood and toddlerhood. But there is joy to be found watching your children move toward independence. It is different for us. There is joy but it is different.

Missy is fully is fully dependent still. She will always need help with everyday tasks. She has never been able to  get herself out of bed and make a ridiculous mess of breakfast all over the floor. She is unable to use the loo. She can’t pull a multitude of clothes out of her drawers and dress up a multi-layered storm. She just can’t. As well as making me sad…this makes me very tired. So I get frustrated…and then guilty. Oh the guilt of wanting to have an easier day. Because it’s not her fault, or mine. It just is. And sometimes it sucks.

{Dedicated to all those out there travelling a hard, suckish road at the moment. You are not alone.}


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