Yesterday morning at around five to seven, I was lying in bed when my children both giggled their way into the room.
I wasn’t asleep; in fact I’d been awake since about three am with horrendous acid. Heartburn struck me down pretty much the instant I got pregnant with the big one and then never went away. I suspect it’s here for life, and now I think about it, it’s possibly the reason my kids both had such bad acid reflux as babies. Genes. Sigh.
Even after downing a pint of Gaviscon I couldn’t get back to sleep.
This is one of the delightful perks of being me; I rarely get back to sleep when I’m fully awake. I lie there, every half hour or so looking at the clock, poking my husband in a bid to make him stop breathing so goddamn loudly, going to the loo to mix it up a bit, and wondering why my body hates me so much.
It makes living with two small children and a snoring husband just that extra bit fun.
So, when the two of them burst into my room together, I was happy enough to see them despite the fact that the Gro Clock clearly did not say it was morning. It’s not a concept that the small one has ever had any understanding/respect for; I don’t think he’s ever stayed in his bed past sun up, which is a depressing thought. The big one however knows the rules and until now has been fairly good at sticking to them. It was only ten minutes, thought I, let’s have a cuddle in bed. It was lovely.
I genuinely thought; ‘This is it now, this is what I’ve been waiting for. Both my children, together, at a sensible hour and in a good mood. Shame I’m so tired or this would be perfect’.
Smuggery never lasts.
This morning, I woke up at 4.23am. I thought I heard the dog. I ignored it. Two seconds later the pair came bounding into our room, holding hands, full of the joys of morning. MORNING MUMMY AND DADDY!
At FOUR TWENTY-THREE BASTARD AM.
They did not want to be escorted back into their room. I had been so welcoming the previous morning even though the sun wasn’t up, so they felt that my inconsistency was worthy of loud complaints and many tears.
My husband, knowing that I had survived the previous day on less than four hours of sleep, caffeine and (fortunately) a 15 minute power nap, disappeared into the children’s bedroom to settle them, and there he stayed. What a good egg.
I, annoyingly and predictably, spent the next two-and-a-half hours swigging more Gaviscon and trying to get back to sleep.