They don’t sleep, so you don’t sleep and, before you know it, your house is a mess, you look a mess and your mind is fast becoming a mess.
Especially at bloody 4am. When you have been up all night.
At this time of the morning your mind is a jumble of theories and thoughts that seem to make perfect sense…at least until you get up, get dressed and have a cup of strong coffee.
Here’s the general thought process:
I am so tired I will be physically unable to get out of bed in the morning.
Is it illegal to look after babies when you are severely sleep-deprived?
Can you DIE from lack of sleep?
I can’t actually remember who the Prime Minister is. What has happened to my brain?
I love being a mum.
Babies are annoying.
Babies are amazing.
OH NO! We are out of milk.
My baby will not sleep because I am a rubbish mother.
How hard can it be to get a baby to sleep? She is a baby – surely she should do as I say?
And bread. Bollocks.
Every other baby in the whole universe sleeps all night, every night
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO FOR THE KIDS’ BREAKFAST?
My baby is not normal.
My child must have a medical PROBLEM that makes her wake up all night.
I better call NHS Direct right now.
My breast milk is not milky enough.
My breasts are not big enough.
There is something wrong with my breast milk.
If I rock, sing, shush or feed my baby to sleep she will always need me to rock, sing, shush or feed her to sleep. FOREVER.
OH MY GOD! She will end up a weirdo spinster who needs my dried up granny breasts to help her sleep at 40 years old!
My husband is deliberately snoring to annoy me.
My husband is deliberately sleeping to annoy me.
I am going to divorce my husband.
I should have listened to Gina Ford.
My baby is an alien. That would explain everything.
I am not getting up for the baby again. I am going to cry her out. See how she likes that.
I am not leaving my baby to cry. She can sleep in my bed.
I am making a rod for my own back by letting the baby sleep with me.
She will never, EVER sleep alone. We’ll need a much bigger bed.
My baby’s fingers are so tiny.
I am going to miss those little fingers when they turn into big fat grown up fingers.
My husband has massive hair. Has he always had massive hair?
‘Hello, hello, how are you?’ Damn you, Mr Tumble. Get out of my head!
David Cameron! Damn. I wish I hadn’t remembered now.
Is it morning yet?