Sleep Deprivation, Salacious Crumb and Punching A Table.

I miss sleep. I mean, I knew I would miss sleep. But when I say I miss sleep… I MISS sleep. I fantasise about sleep a LOT. If there was sleep porn, I would watch it. Sometimes when I think back to dozy Saturday lay-ins, I actually have a little cry. Sometimes I wake up in the morning having already woken up about 8 times during the night, and it takes every ounce of my being to get out of bed. Then I have a little cry in the shower. If I have a shower. If not, I just have a little cry whilst changing The Baby’s nappy. Then wonder if seeing me cry might in some way hinder The Baby’s emotional development, so try to joyfully sing some sort of twinkly baby tune through the tears; even though this must look all the more terrifying.

When I get into bed at night, I stretch out like a giant starfish and the feeling of the lovely bed sheets and the pillow feels as though I am swimming in some sort of delicious heaven. If me getting into bed were a movie, it would have the same backing music as you get in a romantic comedy, when the two lovers finally get together at the end after a tumultuous journey. Lots of strings and triumphant melodies.

Whereas me getting up in the morning would be accompanied by sound bites from Saw.

In fact, I am frequently so sleep deprived that over time, I seem to have developed an alternative personality that The Man and I have called Angry Night Alice. She only comes out at night and looks like Salacious Crumb from Return of the Jedi:  

Angry Night Alice

Part of the excitement (particularly for The Man), is that she doesn’t come out every night… just sporadically. She is a TREAT. Angry Night Alice is angry, mean, very dramatic, has a tendency to catastrophise and does not have a GSOH. Please see table below for an insight into life with Angry Night Alice:

Tiny baby-related nighttime incident	Angry Night Alice Response
Bit of milk leakage requiring change of top. Man offers to locate new top whilst I feed.	‘I’ll get it. JUST LEAVE IT. I know where it is. I WILL GET IT. Just go back to sleep.’
Man lying on his own arm in awkward position whilst asleep.	At similar volume to a foghorn: ‘MOVE YOUR ARM!’ (turn over, go to sleep)
Baby wakes up.	‘This is fucking ridiculous. We can’t carry on like this.’
Baby wakes up.	‘Seriously, I don’t care what anyone says, this is not normal. There is something wrong with her. There must be something wrong with her.’
Baby doesn’t seem to like swaddle anymore	‘So everything we have done up to this point has basically been a complete waste of time. Good times.’ **Large sigh**
Without swaddle, baby wakes herself up a bit with crazy flailing hands.	‘This is ridiculous. Great. Well, buckle up, because everything is about to get even shitter.’
Man suggests I sleep in spare room for one night to catch up on sleep a bit.	‘So basically we’re never going to sleep in the same room ever again? Well that’s great. What a solution.’
Baby is sort of jiffling and grunting. I say ‘Do you think she is hungry?’ Man says ‘I’m not sure’	‘Well that’s great. Thanks for all your help. You’re just laying there doing nothing.’
The Man offers to take The Baby out for a walk first thing in the morning so I can have a bit of a lay in.	‘Why are you always trying to take my baby away from me?’

In the morning, I tend to have very little recollection of these incidents. The Man however, is genuinely scarred.

You see, being that sleep deprived changes you. Sleep deprivation is now banned as a form of torture. There is a reason for that. My tolerance levels have dangerously plummeted. Here is a list of things I have done since being sleep deprived that I would categorically NEVER have done before:

• ·      Shouted at a lady for parking outside my house to go to work at the hospital opposite. I even researched the legalities of it so I had facts to back up my argument.
• ·      Basically fronted up an old lady who was (in my eyes) deliberately taking up the whole path with her old lady trolley so I couldn’t walk fast enough with the pram to get The Baby to sleep. (The Baby will only sleep beyond a certain pram speed).
• ·      Had this exchange with a lady in front of me in the queue at the Chemist who couldn’t decide between 2 medicines that were EXACTLY THE SAME:

Me: **Sigh**

Me: **Loud Sigh**

Lady: Looks behind at me

Me: ‘Seriously, just choose one of the medicines’

Lady: ‘Oh.. sorry’

Lady’s Husband: ‘I’m not sure that was necessary’

Me: ‘Well it clearly was. Some of us have got things to do with our lives.’

I still feel terrible about this.

• ·      Openly cried whilst walking down the street because I just want to go to sleep.
• ·      Eaten a whole, seriously out of date Yule Log with my hands because I ran out of biscuits. (To be fair.. I probably would have done this before)
• ·      Followed a man down the street to give him back the pizza menu he posted through my door and told him never to post anything through my door again. (The amount of junk mail we get is beyond a joke)
• ·      Washed my hair with shower gel and washed my body with shampoo. Twice.
• ·      Googled ‘how long until you die from not enough sleep’
• ·      Spoken to The Man on the phone and told him that he doesn’t need to rush home because I am absolutely fine. 5 minutes later phoned him in a hysterical state because I was lying before (trying to be a good mother), informing him if he doesn’t get home within half an hour, I am probably going to jump out of a window.
• ·      Punched a table.
• ·      Slept for 5 hours straight and felt like I could TAKE ON THE WORLD!!!! WOOHOOOOO!!!

Regardless of how tired I am though, I still wake up approximately every 20 minutes to check The Baby is still breathing. Because she fricking rocks.

A Walk in the Park featuring Hulk Hogan and my Nipple.

Had a very traumatic park experience. Everything environment-wise was set up perfectly for your stereotypical baby walk. The sun was shining…. The park was beckoning, the pram was set up ready to go… the baby seemed happy and winding down for a much-needed nap.

Put baby in pram.

Leave the house.

Reach end of road.

Small cry.

That’s ok… it’s just a ‘settling down’ grizzle. Sometimes happens. We’re good.

Reach park.

Small cry continues.

Becomes large cry.

Fucking brilliant.

Start receiving judgmental looks from non-parent people walking past. I can literally SEE their thoughts. ‘Are you sure your baby’s alright?’… ‘Shouldn’t you be attending to your baby?’… ‘Oh dear, that’s not a happy baby.. poor parenting.’ I know these thoughts, because I used to be those people.

Now I have one of my very own squirming noise-pots, I know the truth.

So now… sure… the sun is shining, the toddler playground is heaving, I’ve got my Toms on and there are dads playing football with their sons. But we have now reached FEWM (Full Emergency Walk Mode).

Pull down secret extra section of pram hood to protect baby’s delicate eyes from sunshine. (Actually to try and drown out the cries to make myself look like a better parent). Baby cries louder. Good.

Have forgotten emergency dummy. Specifically remember thinking just before we left the house that we didn’t need it, because The Baby has only seriously cried in the pram a couple of times before. That’s what happens you see. If you get cocky… the baby KNOWS.

Out comes the Womb Noise App. Place volume on 100 and place next to baby’s head in pram. That’s right. I’m a walking womb. To the people around me (and there are many), I am taking a screaming womb out for a walk.

The Baby likes rough terrain. The current path situation is not rough enough. Veer slightly to the right so that the 2 right wheels are on the grass. Nice and rocky. Good. So to recap… at this stage, I am walking a screaming womb, half on the path and half on the grass. To the common park-public, I look like I have a serious vision and spatial awareness problem. Apart from when there are some tree roots breaking through the path, then I steer over those for optimum bumpiness.

Baby still at Loud Scream State.

Womb noises cease. Phone has run out of battery. Fucking brilliant.

I am now about to pass 2 x model mums with their babies. I mean, they are literally Rosie Huntingdon-Whiteley and Miranda Kerr. HOW DO THEY DO THAT. I have crusty skin falling off my nose as residue from my recent cold, my hair is fluffy due to having to downgrade shampoo and conditioner to Herbal Essences and my thighs are still the size of large oak tree trunks 5 months in. They are leaner than the reduced fat mince from Co-op, have a beautifully even sunkissed glow and one of them is wearing a crop top. A CROP TOP. WT actual F. And guess what… their babies are gurgling and cooing with unconditional joy. Don’t even have the energy to try and smile. Just sneer. Bastards.

Still at Loud Cry State.

Start to go through list of other potential problems:

• ·      Baby was only fed a short while ago.
• ·      Baby only did a poop a short while ago.
• ·      Baby has appropriate warmness.

Maybe The Baby is hungry again, because this is very unusual. Still a fair distance from home, so going to have to address this now. Great. Public Boob Anxiety sweats begin.

Find the most secluded bench I can. Remove Baby from pram. Crying ceases. Progress. Following James Bond-esque scout for any other people, subtly attach baby to boob.

After approximately 1x second, baby detaches very dramatically to stare hypnotically at a tree.

Boob dangerously exposed.

Ever so gently (or not) push Baby’s head back towards boob and gently whisper ‘just have some fucking milk’.

Baby has more milk. Things are going well. Runner approaching. Runner looks very much like Hulk Hogan. Look at Hulk quite intensely to see if he is the real Hulk. Look so intensely, that have not realized Baby has detached and is staring open mouthed at the tree.

NIPPLE EXPOSED!

NIPPLE EXPOSED TO HULK HOGAN!

And because I’m looking so intensely at him, he is of course looking back at me. And my nipple.

I feel like I’ve been nipple raped.

Very quickly pack away boob, replace baby in pram and continue walking.

Crying resumes. Excellent.

Head down. Power home. Reach safety of dining room. Open pram. Baby ceases crying, looks up and literally laughs in my face.

FML.

J-Lo, Channing Tatum and Baby Groups.

It’s Monday at 0817 and I am sitting on the toilet on my laptop. I’m not using the toilet, just sitting on it. And I just watched a video clip by E! Entertainment of J Lo and Channing Tatum dancing. Apparently it is ‘trending’. I couldn’t give a flying shit. Still watched it though.

My child is performing some sort of Lord of the Dance tribute in her swaddle in the crib (cot? crib? Who fucking knows) and we are currently at 29 minutes since I put her down for a nap. I put her down for a nap because she was tired. So tired she was crying. But now she has all the equipment required for a beautiful nap, she has transformed into some sort of acrobatic superstar and is apparently also now trying to acquire the skill of beat boxing.

Why am I sitting on the toilet? Because she will know if I go downstairs. And she will make me come back up again. Then I will go downstairs again. And she will know. And will make me come upstairs again. So because today is already shit (The Man has gone back to work after 2 weeks off), I’m just sitting on the toilet which is a short stroll down the hallway. Why am I watching J Lo and Channing Tatum? Because I’ve already exhausted Facebook, my emails, Instagram and my Showbiz App during the night feeds and now I am lowering myself to this. Too tired and bored to be ashamed.

At some point today, I may get the chance to change out of my dressing gown. Maybe even put on some make up. But who knows? It’s like an exciting daily roulette, fully controlled by a chubby little human who has only been on this planet for 4 months.

Later we are going to Baby Sensory. In a moment of (what I now see as) madness when The Man was off, I got cocky. I thought ‘Oh, we’re getting this napping thing DOWN. We’ve nearly got a ROUTINE. We can TOTALLY hit up some baby groups without having to stress about:

• ·      Getting too tired and kicking off.
• ·      Seeing someone other than mummy or daddy and kicking off.
• ·      Getting overstimulated and kicking off.
• ·      Falling asleep in the car, waking up too soon and kicking off. ‘

HAHAHA!! Stupid me. Now I’m back in the wilderness of alone-dom and the stark reality of baby unpredictability has already slapped me in the face.

As a matter of interest… please enjoy the information below discussing what I THOUGHT baby groups would be like and what I now ACTUALLY think about them:

Pre-having a baby thoughts on baby groups:

• ·      “Ooooo it’ll be so lovely taking my baby to lots of baby groups and help her to develop and interact with other babies. Plus I can make loads of new friends and drink tea and eat biscuits whilst we laugh and chuckle about our fabulous parenting lives.”

Post-having a baby thoughts on baby groups:

• ·      How the fuck are you supposed to commit to a regular baby group that you can definitely fit in around erratic feeding and nap times every single week?
• ·      What if my child kicks the hell off due to tiredness, hunger, boredom, overstimulation, understimulation, just-for-the-hell-of-it, during the group and everyone looks at me and judges me as a bad parent?
• ·      Public getting-my-boob-out anxiety.
• ·      I can’t sing. I ruin the twinkly nursery rhymes.
• ·      Why can’t we sing MC Hammer or Backstreet Boys instead of twinkly nursery rhymes?
• ·      Last time I went to a baby group, my baby actually punched another baby in the face. Oh sure… she doesn’t know they’re her own bloody fingers, but she can throw a Rocky style punch at the well behaved baby boy next to us.
• ·      Last time I went to (the same) baby group, I had forgotten to put deodorant on and was wearing the jumper that always has a slight tang of BO. This was coupled with an increase in sweat due to baby-group-anxiety and thus I quite overtly stunk of BO. I was the smelly mum.
• ·      Last time I went to (the same) baby group, whilst we were splish-splashing in the splish-splash pool, my child vomited in it. The vomit floated around. Other parents removed their children.
• ·      I forgot that I am about as good at making friends as Gina Ford is good at flexibility.
• ·      There are rarely biscuits. If there are.. generally Family Circle. Family. Circle. I’ve only had 2 hours sleep… where are the fucking Foxes??? And there is the psychological struggle of wanting the biscuits.. but not wanting to seem too keen to get to the biscuits.. Waiting for other people to have a biscuit…. Getting angry that no one else is as greedy as me to want the biscuits… Bet in my head that they are all on their post-baby diet… feel like a failure for not being on post baby diet and still wanting biscuits. I love biscuits.

p.s. When The Baby squealed with delight whilst pretending to be a Kangaroo on a bouncy ball, I literally didn’t care if I never saw a biscuit again.

I would care though.

Don’t take them away from me.