Dear Children, is this becoming a regular Friday night thing? Where you’ll wake at 3am, intermittently cry, play, laugh and hit us until sunrise. Is sunrise an acceptable bedtime after hitting the milk bottle hard all night and getting a bit wild? Will we have to sit up all night every Friday listening to your tired slurs and propping you upright?
You are 1 and 2 years old. I would say grow up had you been a teen, but in this case, grow down.
I certainly hope this isn’t a regular Friday night thing, or a regular thing in general. Waking up at all hours, demanding a bottle and negotiating, for hours, before you eventually give in and sleep.
The thing is, once you go to sleep at sunrise, I can’t sleep, because the sun is rising and even in my tired state, my brain won’t allow me to sleep. My brain suddenly goes into mode ”What needs doing today – a shit load before you can even leave the house”. Your dad doesn’t seem to have this problem. Bastard.
Once you drop back off to sleep after that last sip of ‘please God go back to fucking sleep’ milk, you’re late for your usual breakfast time. You then don’t much fancy your lunch. You then go batshit crazy in the afternoon because you’re ravenous. You then don’t feel like dinner. You then refuse to go to bed because you’re hungry. Do you see how unreasonable this is?
Although we did laugh (the next day, not at the time) when you called ”mummy daddy mummy daddy, your bed” (repeat x100). Then once we brought you in to our bed, you said ”my bed” (again, repeat all x100). The only time you actually stayed in your bed, in amongst all this bed-hopping, was when your sister joined us and true to form, did what she could to annoy you. I know darling, that’s so unfair isn’t it, while you were trying to rest in mummy and daddy’s bed.
And to you, my sweet, sweet baby, you don’t need to party all night just because your brother does. Friday night isn’t your time to outshine your brother, it’s your time to sleep. You do your fair share of all-nighters during the week, don’t burn the candle at both ends, dear.
Can we make a deal for next Friday night? Let’s sleep all night and not thrash around like a milkaholic, desperately needing to hit the bottle. This way you won’t be hungover from your binge milking, you won’t get the munchies half way through the day and we won’t need to hand you over to Nanny and Grandad under the rouse of ‘Christmas shopping’. Because, my angels, when you’ve not had enough sleep or food, you can be a right pair of buggers the next day. But for some reason you’ll only demonstrate your buggerness to me, or your father.
I look forward to it.
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