I have a 14 week old baby who will sleep 9-10 hours straight at night. He will have a quick feed, doesn't need changing most nights and goes straight back off.
It's bliss. I'm sorry.
However, I am not going to be smug. I'm going to just be prepared for the unexpected in future.
Yes, I'm just going to keep my big mouth shut!
As I turned off the bedside lamp last night I said to Matt, "You know what, I can't remember the last time he did under 7 hours straight".
I should have known as soon as those words fell from my lips that I was asking for trouble.
It's like when I have said "He hasn't cried at all today" and 5 minutes later he starts hollering just as we all sit down for dinner.
It's also like when I've said "He had quite a windy feed and burped loudly but wasn't sick" just as he vomits at the feet of people queuing up for their Sunday carvery in a pub.
Yup, last night he did 5 and a half hours.
Now, before any sleep deprived mums start throwing their laptops, tablets or phones across the room in anger because their little people only manage 2 or 3 hours, let me explain...
I've had a baby like that. Mini Cheddar didn't sleep through until she was much older. I've felt the sheer awfulness of utter sleep deprivation. So, this time I'm making the most of having a 'sleeper'.
That was until last night.
He woke up in some discomfort just before 2.30am. I decided to wind him but to no avail. By this time he seemed frantic for food so I latched him on. He fed very calmly and seemed extremely content. It was all a ruse. A secret baby plan to lull me into a false sense of sleepy security - like Stewie from Family Guy secretly plotting his next move. I, meanwhile, happily played on Draw Something (so shoot me) and emailed a friend.
He fed for a long time - a lot longer than usual. Then I felt an eruption in the nappy area.
The cause of the discomfort had finally reared it's head (or should I say bottom?)...or so I thought.
When he'd finished his feed I took him into the nursery and placed a very sleepy man onto the change table. As I opened his nappy I thought I noticed something on his 'little man'. Now, mums of boys will know the telltale sign that your man is about to pee by the column in question standing to attention.
No, it was all clear.
I moved in for a closer inspection just to check everything was okay (it was).
Just then it erupted. Yup, the good old urine fountain.
In a moment of sleep deprived panic I ducked and pushed him gently to his side away from me instead of grabbing a tissue to cover up the little offender.
The wee hit the nursery wall and ran down the back of the change table. It also covered his sleep suit.
Just as the realisation of what had happened hit me I heard a loud noise. I peered over the edge of the change table to see what I can only describe as a 'yellowy river' which was, as it felt like at the time, the size of the Amazon, run from his rear end soaking the towel he was lying on. It was a pooptastrophe of korma calamity proportions again.
By this point I think I'd been awake with him 2 hours. I could hear the birds starting to sing the dawn chorus - those chirpy happy buggers...I've never wanted a shotgun so much before!
I started to tackle his tackle, mopping up the pee and poo, whilst cursing under my breath at my husband who was snoring in the bedroom across the landing, completely oblivious to the crappy carnage that I was dealing with!
Just then, Tiny Ched opened his eyes and gave me the biggest gummiest grin ever.
My heart melted.
Then he puked all over himself.
Moral of the story. Just shut the hell up.
|Don't let this pose lull you into a false sense of security|