It’s 5.50am and I am now fully awake. I wouldn’t necessarily say functioning as I tried to open my calculator app to write this post.
I have been awake since 3.20am – on and off I might add but predominantly on! The witching hour has been brought forward due to the Bastard Dummy.
It’s The Middle One’s 8th birthday today – a kid filled birthday weekend is the worst time to be sleep deprived. Even worse when we all develop a cold. This brings me back to the Bastard Dummy.
The Baby who of course can do no wrong in my eyes has genuinely been a little angel considering he received his 2nd immunisations and developed a cold in the same week. He continues to go to bed around 8pm, waking for a feed at 7am. Bliss!
The last few nights however have been shit. Due to his cold The Baby can’t breathe through his nose meaning he is spitting out the Bastard Dummy every 2 minutes. Then comes his distress call “where the fuck is it?!!!” I mentioned before The Baby is an “all or nothing” kind of baby. He will go from totally placid to possessed in seconds and luckily both Jamie and I can recognise the signs now. However it does mean you are poised and ready to plug whenever the Bastard Dummy comes out.
My cold has kept me awake anyway due to the usual symptoms, The Bearded Ones just makes him snore like a wildebeest that has consumed an entire bottle of Jack Daniels. My sympathetic back strokes to surface him have turned into full on rage kicks.
No spare bed for him to get into whilst the kids are here so I have to lay there and listen to it.
So from 3.20am – 6am I am splitting my time from repeatedly rubbing backs, putting the BD back in, googling “anti snoring techniques”, “how to wean your baby off a dummy” and the usual chores vs sleep argument. This is next level exhaustion.
It’s 6am and both The Baby and The Bearded One seem to have settled. I can now get an uninterrupted hour of sleep which may make me human for the remainder of the day.
No. The fucking dog is up. Can’t leave him to settle himself because he will cry solidly for an hour and defecate on the floor. I sometimes think he does this on purpose. The Bearded One doesn’t. I sometimes think he can’t hear him. He does.
I get up with the usual huffing and puffing to indicate what a trooper I am but also how fucking annoying the dog is. The snoring must have exhausted him because he doesn’t even flinch. Arse.
Downstairs I glare at the dog who immediately retreats to his bed realising The Ogre has awoken and not his beloved master who treats him to bacon rolls from M&S!
Muttering under my breath I wait for the poor semi paralysed, blind, deaf dog to hobble to the back door without an inch of sympathy because THAT WAS MY LAST HOUR!! Having finally relieved himself he sits on the wet patio by the back door refusing to come in. This leads to more expletives and huffing from me. Paralysis issues aside, in hindsight the poor thing might just have been terrified to come back in. At the time I see it as insubordination and the behaviour of a madman. Bloody dog!
I am not a morning person, never have been, especially when my morning starts at 3.20am. I creep back upstairs hoping I can drop off for 45 minutes before the birthday chaos commences.
No such luck, I can hear them stirring now. I have developed an excellent “play dead” strategy in the mornings as the “please don’t come in our room before 7am” doesn’t EVER work.
As I lay down to relax back into bed I wonder what it would say about my parenting style if I let The Middle One open his presents when he wakes up and light his own birthday candles as I napped. Just a thought….
Thought over, everyone is up! Farewell sleep, I hope to meet you tonight!