I am currently sat in my daughter’s bedroom. It is 3am Friday morning and she is currently gnawing some sort of multicoloured key set.
I am very, very tired.
I knew babies were notorious for not sleeping but according to *them*(disembodied collection of nonsense that I’ve gleaned from cereal packets and suchlike) it’s not meant to go like this. Baby is born, doesn’t sleep well, gets a bit older, sleeps better. Please resume.
I would give half my nailpolish collection away for that to be the case but the older she’s got the worse her sleep has.
This is where I confess. I’m not into all that mummy wars bs but if I had to label my “style” of parenting I’m very much in the attachment camp, and it’s not because I’ve occasionally not had a chance to shave my legs.
I can’t let her cry. She can whinge but something in my deep primeval brain says “Your baby is crying. They can’t talk. She must need something and that is your job”. Hubby and I attempted controlled crying once and we were a mess after an hour. It may work for some but it’s just not our bag.
So due to this I have a very happy, very lovely, very patchy sleeper. It’s not doing my complexion any good. Whereas I used to get up and spend some time doing my face, I’d rather try and catch up with some sleep and shove on a bit of eyeliner now.
The thing is though I don’t mind.( I mean I don’t mind the eyeliner thing. I very much mind the “no sleep” thing but I’ll get my vengeance when she’s a teenager). It means when I get a chance to make myself all pretty I like to enjoy the process. Really think about what I’m doing and look down at my lg watching me put it on (whilst she simultaneously licks the wall). Some of my fondest memories are watching my mum, mouth open, apply mascara and her signature whiff of Fendi.
So I’ll feel like crap in the morning but hopefully it’s a small blip in the grand scheme of things. Plus I’m buying an air horn when she turns 13…