Java, java, java!

I have been sitting in this cafe for 90 minutes now, Icoffee-cup-mug-cafe‘m reaching the end of my third mug of coffee and I don’t intend to leave any time soon. My little beast is, finally, sleeping soundly and I would rather burst my bladder than disturb his slumber.

I started “Mother’s Group” last week, and while the fellow mothers seem lovely, the facilitator is, in my humble opinion, a bit of a turd. She is succeeding in reinforcing my guilt about a number of my parental failings. One of which being, my inability to put Angus down in his bassinet for daytime naps. And to really grind salt into the wound, apparently the fact that he is sleeping so well at night, which had been a cause for celebration in our house, actually means that he is exhausted from not getting enough shuteye during the day. Thanks for bursting that bubble, Ms Turd-alot.

So, for the past week, I have been trying to prise Angus away from his usual day-time sleeping quarters, i.e. my lap, and settle him in the bassinet for naps. “And don’t let him fall asleep on your lap first, once you see the signs he’s tired then put him down and settle him to sleep”.

Okay Turd-alot, I’ll give that a go…

How’s it going? Pretty bloody shit, to put it mildly. My little boy is vehemently opposed to this new arrangement. There have been literal and figurative dummy spits, on both sides (well, I throw, not spit, the dummies). Both son and mum are shedding daily tears of yawning babyfrustration. Every morning is now combative; a tug of war of wills. I start out strong, leveraging every settling trick that thwarted a tired Angus in the past, plus a few more suggested by Nanny Google. Swaddling and wrapping. Tucking him up in his sleeping bag and putting on a sleeping cap. Warming the sheet. Rocking and patting and pressing. Singing and white noise and musical chimes. Even Penghee the Penguin, a stuffed toy ingenue, has made her debut appearance into the ‘sleepy time’ routine. None of this works. (Penghee may not be receiving a callback). Each trick only serves to make Angus angrier and angrier. So by the time he’s worn me down and I surrender, Angry Angus has reached the overtired stage; which, ironically, makes it even more difficult for him to fall asleep, even when nestled on the Mummy mattress.

The only thing achieved over the past week is that Angus is now sleeping for even longer periods at night, which I now 100% agree with utmost confidence, is my fault and directly due to deprivation of daytime sleep. So, thanks for all of your help, Turd-alot.

This morning, Angus was looking very much the worse for wear. Pale face and red rimmed eyes, like a strung-out junkie jonesing for a fix. When I picked him up from the gym creche, the minder admonished, “He’s only just starting to nod off now. Have you noticed how tired he is today?”
Yes, I bloody have.
“I would just try to let him sleep if I were you. Why don’t you keep him in the pram and just go sit in a coffee shop for awhile?”


Fortunately, I have been diligent in keeping up my Kegel exercises, so I am prepared to keep sitting here and consume as much caffeine as I have to, in order to stay here and let Angus sleep.
“Would you like another coffee?”

Just keep clenching; just keep clenching; clenching, clenching, clenching…


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