Thursday, 20 October 2011

Sleepless in South Yorkshire

Just when it seems it may just about be possible to survive on less than five hours of broken sleep a night, The Baby throws a curve ball.

Why, thinks The Baby, would I want to sleep in my crib when instead I can lie in the arms of the people who spend large chunks of time pulling funny faces at me and making funny sounds?!  And so instead of remaining in bed for a period of 2 or 3 hours at a time for once or twice a night - which although not great, is heading in the right direction - The Baby begins to wake up every hour. Then every half an hour. Then every time his back touches the crib.  Milk is rarely sought after by The Baby on these occasions.  As soon as he is lifted from the crib and he feels human warmth he’s back to sleep as if a light has been switched off.

Not wanting The Baby’s shuffling and murmurs to turn to cries and shouts which may wake The Seven Year Old and The Husband – neither of them having the luxury of maternity leave – results in The Baby on me and me propped up on a mountain of pillows.  Only one of us sleeps.  Sleeps like a baby.

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