Sleeping is cheating

I’ve not had a proper nights sleep for 16 months.

Well I think its been 16 months.

I’ve lost track.

I should’ve done a tally by marking the tree wallpaper with a sharpie pen.

Every night without fail my baby wakes me up.

I’ve worked out on average. I roughly get about an hours sleep.

I’ve got work in the morning.

I’ll spend my day functioning on auto pilot.

Some days I don’t remember a thing about my shift.

I’ll start.

Then I’ll leave.

In between its all a blur.

She carries on giggling and laughing.

I could swear she’s goading me. 

I love my child. But for fucks sake go to sleep you little cunt

We live in a one bedroom flat.

In hindsight before me and my girlfriend even contemplated about having a sprog of our own we should’ve sold up and moved. 

I need this little fucker of joy to zip it and go to sleep.

The only way in which she will cease is if I grab her by her tiny leg, swing and smash her head against the wall until she no longer makes a noise.

Suppose I could smother her with the blanket that she has become accustomed to.

Or I could strap her in her pram and take her for a walk and leave her to freeze in the dead of night

There’s a full box of co-codamol somewhere.  That I bought because I’ve been suffering with a stiff neck. They help to take a slight fraction of the ache away.

By the way they’re for me the not my baby. I’m not a complete lunatic. 

Considering downing the entire box with a bottle of whisky. In the hope that my heart will stop beating from being submerged from this early hour cocktail.

I need sleep. I could sleep for days. No weeks. Scrap that months, years.

This is torture.

The only light at the end of this never ending tunnel is that of the morning Sun light that creeps through the vertical blinds.

This informs me that another night has passed. Once again without much sleep. And now she sleeps.