Sleep is for Wimps

Lack of sleep does terrible things to people. In your case, it alters your whole personality, your view of the world and your ability to cope with your new life, which throws different problems and challenges at you on a daily, sometimes an hourly basis. The big problems started when the Boychild was nine months old. That summer, he woke every day at 4.30. You tried taking him into bed, feeding him, singing to him, walking around with him. Nothing would convince him to go back to sleep. Wide eyed and raring to go, he would cry if you put him down and wriggle around if you tucked him up in bed with you.

The first few times, you decided it was better to get up than try to get him back to sleep. He’d only wake his sister and stop the ManChild from getting his sleep. You took him downstairs and put him on his playmat with a few toys to look at while you flicked through your Penelope Leach for some solutions. The only piece of advice you could find was that it was a stage that some children went through but quickly grew out of. Now that you thought about it, you did remember the GirlChild doing the same thing and it only lasted for a few weeks. After that, she’d got into the habit of sleeping until about 7 which was very reasonable and you assumed the BoyChild would follow suit.

By September, sure enough, his waking up time was creeping towards a more respectable 5.15. Then the clocks went back and 5.15 was now 4.15. Who’s idea was this clock changing business anyhow? Didn’t the powers that be realise how difficult it was for people like you with small children? You ask your mother for advice. “He’s probably waking because he’s hungry,” she tells you sagely. So you give him a bottle of formula as soon as he wakes each day. But instead of having the desired affect, all that happens is that as soon as he’s had his milk, he does a big poo. Once you’ve had to turn on the light to change his nappy, there’s no turning back. It’s as if he’s saying right, now I’m all fuelled up, clean and dry so let’s start the day properly and give me some toys to throw around. When you tell your mum, she agrees “Once they’re awake, they’re awake. There’s probably nothing you can do about it” and instinctively you know she’s right. That doesn’t stop you asking the health visitor for her nuggets of wisdom. She tells you the only solution is to leave him to cry. But what about the other people in the house, you ask. If we leave him to cry, he’ll wake his sister up. We’ll all be wake instead of just you and him. But the health visitor is adamant. Walk away or you give him the signal that it’s OK to get up at 4.30 every day and he’ll get into the habit. You try her suggestion the next morning. He cries pitifully and with increasing intensity. He can’t understand why no one comes. You go in and reassure him, then close the door and wait. But less than a minute passes before you decide it’s not going to work. You fish him out and take him into the bedroom. You walk around with him for a while, shussing him and rocking him slightly. He looks up and you and giggles because he knows he’s won the game. The ManChild gets out of bed and takes him from you. He walks around, singing and humming softly to him. You get back in to bed.

You realise you’ve dozed off whenthe MC gets back in beside you. His is alone and his body is cold. “How did you do that?” you gasp admiringly. “It took an hour,” he explains. You’re so much in awe of his achievements, and he’s so high on success, you roll towards one another and make the most of an opportunity for a rare early morning session. You’re beginning to get things going when - no, it can’t be - you hear the familiar cries. He’s awake again. Ten minutes. That was ten minutes’ sleep. After an hour of persuasion, it seemed a poor return. You get up, put on your dressing gown and pick the baby up. There’s nothing for it to take him downstairs. Its’ now quarter to six. If it’s going to take an hour to get him back to sleep for a mere ten minutes’ more then it doesn’t make sense. The logical thing is to get up when he wants and hope he grows out of it. Another piece of advice from the health visitor is to make sure he’s well tired out. But you know he is. He’s so active, crawling around, climbing the furniture, always on the go.


The problem with getting up so early is that it makes your day seem so long. By the time the GirlChild is ready for a morning at pre-school, you’ve been up for five hours! No wonder you sometimes give in to a sneaky nap at ten in the morning, when the BC has finally realised he needs to catch up on his zeds. But even though you claw back half an hour to an hour now and then, it’s not enough to stop you feeling woozy and cotton-wool headed all day. In fact, you suspect daytime sleep actually makes you feel worse. You’re biorhythms are completely messed up. All out of kilter.