I too am sleep deprived once again but only because of a nightly 3am feed and then me not being able to go back to sleep afterwards.
I lost it at the hospital today. Knowing that the disabled parking situation up there is atrocious, I allowed 30 extra minutes to park.
Not a single disabled parking space. I queued, and queued, and queued, and was honked at, and told off in sign language, and did laps around the whole place, until I finally was moved on to the multi storey by the (invariably empty) hospital disabled transfer bus man.
The following fracas ensued.
Boff loses plot totally and bursts into tears, slamming hands on steering wheel. Felix loses it in sympathy. 'I can't use that bloody car park because I can't get from the disabled car parking spaces to the disabled transfer bus pick up point without hurting myself and I haven't got a carer with me'.
Man has look on face which suggests 'Ah yes, I have done a half day course on this, patronising disabled breastfeeding mothers no 221b'. He says, 'Well if you park in the multi storey car park the bus can pick you up.'
Boff says, 'Well I can't use the multi storey car park, I have told you why'.
Man repeats himself. (NB known as 'broken record technique' amongst educationalists, I use it myself frequently). He then suggests parking at the treatment centre instead, which is approximately a quarter of a mile away on foot.
Boff then cries some more, tries to phone DH for sympathy, fails, tries to google physio department on phone to get their number to tell them what's going on, holds phone to ear wondering why it's not ringing, remembers she hasn't actually dialled the number, cries a bit more, eventually speaks to physio dept to be told there isn't enought time for her to have the appointment unless she gets there very quickly.
Boff then drives to said car park, queues 5 minutes to get in, eventually finds the last disabled space in there, hobbles a long way across car park to lift (NB disabled spaces nowhere near lift), hobbles out of lift, hobbles over to disabled bus transfer pick up point and perches with Felix on one of the four higgeldy piggeldy wheelchairs dumped in the corner (NB no bench or chairs in this area). (Also NB Boff hates being in a wheelchair, I mean really hates). Boff stared at by able bodied members of the public going past because she is not 80 years old and also because she has a baby with her. Plus she is bawling her eyes out.
Boff waits 15 minutes then realises there is no way bus is going to come for ages and that it is a total waste of time. Gives up, joins payment queue, pays £1.80 to get out of godforsaken car park, goes home crying eyes out.
Boff now thinks it is pointless trying to get to physio in future, which let's face it, is crap anyway.
Boff has also eaten four chocolate biscuits which means another day stuck looking like the back end of a bus with no improvement on the horizon.
It's not going well this week.