I caught up on BBC Two’s Special Forces Ultimate Hell Week last night. Despite the running around carrying giant logs, packs that weigh almost as much as you do and SAS interrogation, I couldn’t help but envy this soaked, shivering, filthy bunch! Why? Well because they got a whole four hours sleep, snuggly tucked into their military issue sleeping bags. Quietly snoring away under canvas in the Welsh countryside. I mean FOUR FLIPPING HOURS!! Bliss I say! Pure bliss! Oh and fat chance!
Our little bundle of joy sleeps for no more than two hours at a time. It’s cute during the day when those two hours mean I have time to put the washing on and run round with a vacuum. Maybe even mop the kitchen floor to rid it of terrier sized paw prints! At night it’s a different story!
We are all in bed before 10pm at the moment. For a certain person that means, yes thank you I’ll feed a bit, doze a bit, wake up and glare at you the moment you move. Yes I may listen to a story, I’ll stay in what you think is a milky, sleepy, comatose state, but the moment you lift me into my own cot, I’m bolt awake, sucking on my hand again, because you never feed me!
I love my little guy so much, but I do not love, I’ve wriggled and now I can’t wriggle back 11pm, I’m hungry 12pm, I’m snuffling, sort of testing out my operatic vocals 2am, uh oh nappy alert 3am, hungry 4am, I’m bored 6am. And to top it all off the Husband’s alarm goes off at 6:30am, ‘slept all the way through last night, didn’t he? What a good boy he is.’. Yes dear, marvellous! Or even better, ‘I don’t really hear him when he cries’. Really?! Don’t you?! That’s not even remotely true is it?! IS IT?!
Apparently it gets better after three months, until then you’ll find me, two shattered dogs and a baby who is having the time of his life fast asleep in front of desperate TV, pretty much all afternoon, every afternoon! Cold coffee cups littered all around us, biscuit crumbs elegantly sprinkled on the sofa, and the vacuum still plugged in and sucking up air somewhere in the house!