So remember when I was all ‘oh I’ll just go with the flow wrt sleep, and so what if Asher doesn’t sleep, he’s a baby etc’? Well that was when Asher did sleep. That was before his sleep went tits up (often literally) and I was so tired I was on the floor (often literally), and if anyone told me how good their baby was at sleeping I would blast them with the hot furious breath of a thousand cups of life-saving, sanity-saving tea.
Back then I referred to the ‘S word’ on this blog, and that word was ‘sleep’. Shortly afterwards, the S word became ‘shit’, as in, ‘shit, my baby is one of those non-sleeping ones’.
I had forgotten how sleep deprivation can feel like actual torture; or maybe it wasn’t so bad last time; or maybe it wasn’t so bad when I didn’t have another child to look after when morning finally rolled around. In any case, one thing I’ve learned is that just as children, and being a parent, can change in a second and then change again, so do my views on children and being a parent. And suddenly, my beautiful little happy baby was kicking my ass brutally, night after night, and my laissez-faire attitude to sleep went the same way as my fresh complexion and my ability to construct a sentence.
And that, dear reader (because there’s probably only one left by now), is why I haven’t posted for a long time. The baby was trying to finish me, and I didn’t have the resources to do anything but look after the kids- just about- and google ‘four months old terrible sleeper’.
But here I am! The baby has been dispatched into his own cot in his own room, has started to eat some real food, and OH JOYOUS DAY has started to sleep better again (for now, touch wood).
So here I am again, emerging from the tunnel- I hope, I pray [ed note: since drafting this post, Asher has been stricken with chickenpox, so I’m back in the tunnel for now- there’s nothing like your baby hanging grimly off your hair to stop you putting him in his cot, to make you feel sorry for him…]. There will be posts about stuff, stuff that happened so long ago it might be a bit awkward. But hey , I’ve got to start somewhere.
Meantime I will be practising my one man band act, complete with crashing cymbals and kazoo, ready for Asher’s teenage years when he really loves sleep, to remind him what he did to me when he was this chobbly-faced little chap:
mumboots 