I'm plumb tuckered out. Knackered, buggered, ready to drop. just.plain.tired.
When I'm at the hospital I feel like I should be home with the kids. When i am home with the kids I worry that he is sad and lonely at the hospital. The house is a mess, and when I finally GET there I don't have the energy to do anything but look at the mess. Last night I had dinner at 10.30pm. Only because I was STARVING. I know it's only for a little while, but it's hard. He is ok-ish. A bit brighter than he was yesterday, but NOW he has realised it's a MAJOR operation (we TRIED to tell him that BEFORE). I don't know whether to hug him or kick him up the pants (figuratively, can't ACTUALLY because he's sitting on his toosh). I take the kids to see him and they get the fidgets and he tells them to stay still, not to touch, not to bump...and then we leave too soon. I am just feeling a bit flat. I have FIVE ENORMOUS, OVERFLOWING baskets of washing to fold, so I better go and get into that....at least it's been through the washing bit.