Take back the night....

I love the night. Quite possibly due to my slight aversion to sunlight. (Yes Zoe, I said "slight". :p)
There is something about the energy after the sun goes down that has always appealed to me. It is calm. It is quiet. It sparkles with possibility.

Then I had children, and the night has become a battle ground.

It all kicks off with the newborn phase.... feeding and/or settling a baby for about 70% of the time which would have usually be put to good use by sleeping.

Next is the teething stage (Usually just follows straight on from the newborn stage.) This involves long bouts of screaming, followed by extremely cute tricks designed to entice you to play in the middle of the night, and then, more screaming.

The "I've just learned to walk/crawl/talk/climb/jump

ect, and cannot possibly sleep while there is so much new information in my head," stage

The sickness stage, which if you happen to be one of my boys, hits at least once a month and just overlaps a separate sleeping issue.

The move from the cot to a bed, when they figure out that there isn't anything trapping them anymore, and they are free to spring from their former prison and roam the house at half past ridiculous.

There are a hundred more that I know I've been through, but we are on day four of the latest issue, and my brain function is down to the stage that I have the concentration level of an A.D.D goldfish.

I am now very aware of why sleep deprivation is an effective torture technique.

This is the "Stay in your own bed" issue. Why are other peoples beds so much more appealing than your own when you're three? (Rhetorical question. I do know why.... doesn't make it any less frustrating though.)

In the last three days I have averaged about 3 hours of broken sleep per night. The rest of the time has been spent convincing a screaming Connah that he needs to stay in his own bed, and then stalking through a pitch black house trying to hunt him down and return him to his room when he sneaks out after he thinks I'm asleep.

One night, I can do. It actually make me a bit hyperactive, like I've had fifteen coffees followed by an adrenalin rush of some sort. The second, I'm slightly worn out, but still perfectly able to function. By the third day, I'm a bit of an emotional mess. I've had a lot of those "I've just spilled some sugar, and have absolutely no idea what to do, so I'll just stand here and stare at it" moments today.

I have been given all advice from "Just let him sleep in your bed... he'll grow out of it eventually." to "Put a lock on the outside of his room." But, as always, I will ignore everybody and just do what I decide is right.

It is quite daunting to think that potentially, I have years more disturbed nights ahead of me. Daunting, but entirely acceptable. I signed on for this when I decided to have children, and if they need me to stay up with them for weeks on end to help them ride out their sleepless nights, then that is what I will do.


So for now, the night belongs to them, it is my gift to them until they no longer need it. Only then will I take it back, and have the quiet, calm, sparkly nights that I vaguely remember.




xox