Five. Seventeen. A. M.
This is the time I was rudely awoken this morning by the boy’s cries.
Actually, this is not strictly true, it was probably 5:14 as I definitely spent three minutes with my eyes clamped tightly shut, willing myself and him back to sleep, not looking at the clock, and wishing, not for the first time, that he had come with a mute button installed.
You would think I would have learnt by now that this approach is utterly futile. He wasn’t giving up. So at 5:17 I drag my sorry arse across the landing to see what is up.
Comforter-all present and correct.
And, unbelievably, the boy looks SLEEPY still. I hold on to this with hope in my soul. After a quick cuddle and lots of sleepy whispering I lay him back down in his cot. Halfway back across the landing he lets me know in no uncertain terms that this is NOT an acceptable outcome.
Still desperately clinging to the hope of some sort of Sunday morning lie in I am forced to accept the inevitable. He is coming in with us.
I retrieve the boy. And his comforter. And his dummy, which is as close to a mute button as we are going to get, and carry him on tiptoes back across the landing, still whispering what I hope are sleep-inducing words in his ear.
I gently lie him down in the middle of our bed.
Mr B slowly opens just one eye. He assesses the situation and rapidly clamps it shut again whilst firmly rolling away from us. He is much better than me at not letting go of his chance to sleep in. I am on my own with this one.
The boy starts to crawl about.
I grab him back.
He wriggles and pokes me in the eye.
Its time for decisive action.
I bear-hug him. He is not going anywhere.
He kicks me in the stomach but I hold fast. For what seems like forever. After about half an hour of resolutely clinging to my writhing, wriggling bundle he is still. And then ….what was that?
A LITTLE SNORE.
Hurrah! I have bested him. He sleeps. Now as long as I don’t move we are good.
But then I get an itch.
Right by my nose.
Don’t move it will pass.
It doesn’t. Instead it spreads and now I have another by my hairline. Jeez the bloody thing is spreading like wildfire.
DO NOT MOVE.
YOU CAN RESIST.
I couldn’t. I scratched. The relief. Bliss.
“MAMMA” the boy squeals delightedly at me two seconds later grinning with glee at my open eyes.
We trudge downstairs for breakfast.
It is 6:03.