Yesterday I would happily have sold Ben to any passing circus. Actually I would have given him away.
Scratch that. I would have paid them to take a detour to come and take him. Travel expenses and everything.He wouldn’t sleep. At all. It started off as mildly irritating when he didn’t have his usual long morning nap, but the day rapidly degenerated into carnage, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Ben found the whole thing highly entertaining to start with, beaming and twinkling at the elderly ladies at the local community café as I listed his shortcomings through gritted teeth. As the day went on, he became grumpier and grumpier, glowering and flailing with his little fists. Clearly, my failure to make him sleep earlier in the day was hugely unreasonable and fell far below the level of service he expected in a mother.
He therefore set out to impress upon me that my conduct was not acceptable. The rest of the day was set to a soundtrack of low-level whinge, occasionally crescendoing into full-throated wails and howls of fury whenever I dared to do anything particularly outrageous like putting him down, or attempting to eat or wee, or in fact anything other than sitting gazing at him adoringly. Even Thomas, master of the art of moan, found himself outclassed and was reduced to staring at Ben in stunned silence.By 9pm I was giving serious consideration to getting in the car and going in search of somewhere quieter – like a bagpipe convention or a rave perhaps. Ben clearly realised that he might have pushed his luck a little and, after final few wails, he calmly rolled onto his side and went to sleep, assuming the angelic expression worn by all babies who sleep soundly, secure in the knowledge that they have fulfilled their primary function of driving their parents completely and totally insane.
Today was better. I have, touch wood, succeeded in establishing bedtime. I have an evening again.
Unfortunately I have also discovered Game of Thrones. Bye bye evenings....