This morning I am wondering if everything that I love is trying to kill me. Via sleep deprivation. My house is like a slightly nicer version of Guantanamo bay right now.
I went to bed quite early last night. I was asleep by twelve. I would usually have until around three until the first nightly demands for food would come from my darling dribble face. Last night at two in the morning Frankie noticed that Opie had a toy that he wanted. Frankie leapt across the room at Opie who, in a desperate bid to save the treasure jumped excited on the bed.
I am in the bed. Opie is HEAVY. Frankie protested loudly that the treasure had not been relinquished immediately. I let out a loud OOFFFF! sound as I am sure that some of my major internal organs had all been smooshed together in a most unnatural way. The baby was woken up.
It was super cold in our room and the sleepy complaining child was quick to put his icy hands of doom all over my chest as he wildly shook his head back and forward across my boob in search of the nipple. Now I am even colder as I am covered in dribble. Now I know that you are not supposed to let your baby sleep in the bed with you. I have read many leaflets and articles that all tell me in capital letters that CO-SLEEPING IS THE DEVIL!
If the baby is in the bed then the dogs won’t get in the bed. As soon as I pick him up they take their treasure negotiations to the hallway. Seconds later Opie flops down in the doorway with a sigh. Frankie has won the battle and I can hear his clickity clacky happy paws playing with the treasure downstairs. ( the treasure I discover this morning is a dummy, rejected by the non fluffy child as not a nipple and no thanks, it has become the most brilliant dog treasure that there ever was. Frankie is proudly walking around with it in his mouth. I just had to remove my boot from Opie’s mouth who was trying to offer it as an exchange with Frankie, as much better and more forbidden treasure)
So I know that apparently if the smallest one is in the bed then myself and lovely boyfriend will fall into the deepest sleep known to man and smother our him to death. I wonder if the people who say this have ever had a four month old, teething, hungry baby in their bed. He is a windmill of spinning arms and legs. He is LOUD. I keep him on the side away from lovely boyfriend to feed and try to doze. This is virtually impossible due to to his icicle paws, kicking and chomping. Finally when his appetite seems to be sated I return him to his lovely little crib, snuggle into the nice, toasty warm lovely boyfriend and try to get some sleep.
It is nearly within my grasp, my heavy eyelids are firmly shut, I am comfortable (apart from the slight ache in my back I have still not quite recovered from the heaviest sofa in the world moving the other day) it is bliss. Obviously all the small one needed was to let out a series of the loudest farts any creature has ever done. Opie is terrified and leaps around crashing into the door which ricochets off the chest of drawers with a sleep shattering crash. This terrifies the stinky wind bag to tears.
Back in the bed. In the middle now. More slurping, but this time in an acidic fog that I worry might make us all go blind. I realise that the smell has not come alone. It is nappy change time. I undo poppers and expose the gorgeous roly poly thighs,( I defy anyone not to want to give them a squeeze, although they were slightly less appealing than normal last night) somehow in less than three minutes poo has escaped out of the top and sides of the most expensive nappies in the world that promise me this will never happen.
I go and get a new nappy, vest, baby grow and baby grow bag thing for him to sleep in. Many baby wipes and cold dog noses up the nighty later we are ready to attempt sleep once more. No, that statement was not quite right. I was ready. He was not. He is now back in the middle of the bed for more munching. I am secretly wondering if there can possibly be any milk left in my boobs. Almost as if he has a psychic link with me, he looks up and smiles with a mouthful of milk. This runs down my boob/side and onto the bed sheet.
He is WIDE awake now. He is poking a finger up my nose and at the same time has a fistful of lovely boyfriends beard. Luckily lovely boyfriend is brilliant at sleeping. He opens one eye, smiles at the champion of sleep deprivation says “hello puppy” and goes back to sleep even though a chubby little fist is now hitting him in the nose.
We are now at quarter to six this morning. The mega chins are all squashed together for a giant yawn. I transfer him back to baby grow bag and cot. He drifts off to sleep. So do I. We sleep for an hour. But today is Wednesday. It’s only fucking bin day. The lovely bin men who dutifully take our waste away, that I genuinely do appreciate and am so glad that exist are not the quiet sort. Wheelie bins are thrown wildly around the street (or at least that it what it sounds like) Opie likes to watch them, I am sure that he could confirm it for me, he opens the curtains so that he can stand on his hind legs with his paws on the window sill, he wags his giant tail happily as he watches them. It wafts the chilly morning air all over us.
I give up and come downstairs. The dogs all do a happy dance in front of the food cupboard as they are hoping that breakfast is going to be early today. I instantly relent and feed them.
The house is quiet. I have a cup of tea. Then there is a knock at the door. The dogs all shout just in case I haven’t heard the knocking. It is a bailiff. For the woman that used to live here. The baby wakes up. I must look like a lunatic ( I am wearing three different types of leopard print dressing gown, pyjama bottoms which I put on after the dogs noses and slippers) I am tired and the sound of the baby’s protestations make me do a totally furious face. Opie is trying to lick the bailiff through my legs. He promises to remove our address from the list and runs away down the driveway.
The baby goes back to sleep finally. Although I am so tired that I feel like part of my brain is made of cotton wool, I know that I cant get back to sleep. Oh well. There is always tonight, you never know, it could be the one.