Our clocks dislocated themselves forwards and hour yesterday. So far, so what?
It happens everywhere, except in QLD, where on holidays to the outlaws’ in December we’re woken up with bright sunshine about 4am and plunged into darkness at 6pm. That’s fun with a toddler. You come back from holiday feeling more tired than when you left.
We’ve decided that Peanut has just been on the same body clock since he was 18 months old, he wakes up when he’s hungry – whether that is 5:30am or 6:30am depending on the clock being in summer or standard time, it simply makes no difference to him. Just to us as we try to function around him in a jetlagged state, unlike us, he can have a snooze in the middle of the day and people don’t think he’s lazy, he’s just busy growing.
I do mean jetlagged, anyone else find it difficult the first week after the clocks change? The daylight is different, I feel slow and lethargic, out of sorts. Never mind, I’ll get over it.
This morning, we talked at work about how losing an hour on a Sunday is a nightmare when you’re trying to get ready for the week ahead. Funnily enough, we all discovered that the men in our lives pretty much carried on oblivious, either watching the Grand Prix or the Rugby (c’mon you Bunnies!), or both. We couldn’t determine why though. Maybe they just don’t run around like headless chickens making lunches, packing bags, sorting children and ourselves out; maybe it’s more to do with the pressure we put on ourselves to make lunches, pack bags and sort children and ourselves out? I should say here though, Hubs did do his ironing through the rugby match and entertained Peanut in the garden and playing with Lego while I pottered about in the kitchen batch cooking for the week.
Sunday afternoon there was a small tantrum from the wee man, which was assuaged by a trumpet (crumpet) with honey; he then promptly fell asleep, at 5pm (new time) and slept soundly for three hours, there was no shifting him. When he woke up, he managed a couple of mouthfuls of dinner, nearly fell asleep again at the table, so we quickly got him into his PJs and cleaned his teeth. Turning his light out, I looked at the clock – 8pm and thought ‘Yay! That’s not too bad!’ until Hubs reminded me we’d not actually changed the clocks in Peanut’s room. Shit.
He slept well though and woke up at 6:30am (new time) asking where Dadda was, I said ‘He’s in the kitchen, say “Morning!”‘ Peanut charged out to the kitchen yelling ‘Morning!’ From that perspective, he is better than I am in the morning. It takes me a while to get going, let alone be cheerful. More so than normal as my hip is (technical term) stuffed. I’m seeing the osteo tomorrow morning, I was going for a run today, but decided against it. I can barely walk without pain, stairs are an effort, standing up and sitting down is difficult. I may be determined, but I’m not stupid. Depending on what Jo says tomorrow, I may or may not be running 10km on Sunday, but I’m thinking she won’t let me. Despite stretching it out repeatedly through the day and anti-inflammatories, if anything, it is getting worse. I’m gutted. But a friend reminded me while there would be more 10km runs, there wouldn’t be more legs… Good point.