Saturday Morning

The rules of the game keep changing. Every weekend I have a new set of instructions from the latest book Heidi’s been reading. Often the instructions one weekend entirely contradict the instructions I was given just 7 days earlier. How we manage to do things so wrong is a mystery to me, I mean how hard can it be? He eats, sleeps and poops and it’s taken this long and we’re still learning how to smoothly facilitate these 3 very simple processes.

The rules today are: give him his bath at 8:45am to relax him. Put him to bed at 9:00am and with any luck he’ll sleep till 11. It is 9:30am now and he’s still wide-awake in his cot goobling to himself. When he wakes up give him milk from his new Playtex bottle. This should trick him into thinking he’s drinking from a breast. The instructions for the bottle are in the trash so extrapolate what information you can from the promotional literature on the website and give it a shot. The bottle has a plastic liner inside that deflates like a breast (yuck). You can then take him for a walk if I so desire, he’ll be well rested and he’ll enjoy the scenery. At 1pm feed him again then put him down for another 2-hour nap and that’s it.

As if that’s going to be it.

Last weekend she put him down at 8:45am before leaving for work and said: “under no circumstances go to him! He has to learn to self-soothe.” At 10:30am, ears ringing and brain tingling, I texted her at work to let her know I couldn’t take the screaming any more, I was literally going mental. She immediately called back to let me know that: “go to him under no circumstances,” didn’t actually mean ‘no circumstances’. For example, she said, I should never leave him for more than an hour. Well, duh! After that traumatic experience he was listless for the remainder of the weekend. See his expression on last weekend’s photos.

A problem with these naps and this tiny flat is that I can’t eat, pee, dress or move whilst he gets his beauty sleep. My mum keeps telling me that babies get used to whatever noise levels are around them. If I were constantly moving, eating, peeing and dressing this may well be true, but as these processes naturally occur just a few times a day he’s not going to get used to them. One creak of the floorboards and his little ears prick up and the screaming begins. So I sit in the living room, semi-naked, legs crossed, bladder pulsing, my whole body withering as I imagine all the tasty snacks less then 15 feet from where I’m sat. At least it’s quiet now, he’s just dropped off and in my sleep-deprived parched, starved, prostrate state I am free to bitch about him on my blog. I should be thankful for these small mercies.

Enjoy your sleep you little devil!