Sleep. I miss that.


The Littlest Chum has been unwell for a little while, just full of cold and snot, poor baby. But this means he’s got into a bit of a habit of waking up at 3am and crying inconsolably.

Being the soft touch that I am, I usually bring him into bed. Well, I say soft touch, it’s mostly because I’m so tired and sleepy that I can’t face doing anything else.

Unfortunately for us, he isn’t the calm and snuggly baby he was when we last coslept. Gone are the days when I’d spend every night curled around a small milky, snuffly bundle. Now he’s a great big flailing octupus who prefers to sleep with one foot up my nose and the other across my neck, while he beats a tattoo of tiny rabbit punches across the Rock God’s chest. Every so often he’ll sit up and demand MILK (he hasn’t had night feeds for seven or eight months) or just do his faintly comical ‘wah-wah-wah’ until we give in and get up.

I miss my eight hours a night. I did nearly eleven months of him sleeping like a newborn, waking throughout the night. I got very used very quickly to him sleeping 7-6. I’d like those nights back again now please.

Although secretly, when the Rock God and I are lying awake sniffing his sleepy little head and trying not to laugh out loud at the contortions he has twisted himself into, we do wish he still slept in our bed every night. Just don’t tell him that.


It’s exhausting, this toddler business.


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