I know that as soon as night falls again, all rules fly out the window (if only babies would too, in true Peter Pan style) but as I wait for my super-strength coffee to brew, this list (or rant) is making me feel a bit better.
- Never, never, say out loud, or even write down that I think my baby is sleeping through the night. It is an automatic curse on sleep- every time some well meaning person asks me if he is and I say yes, I have jinxed a good night's sleep for at least seven days.
- Never, never, agree to let my husband have a lie in advance- it is guaranteed that the morning of the agreed lie in, I will really need him to get up with the baby. Today after waking every three hours to battle with Baby Boy, I could really do with that extra couple of hours in bed- by 11 am I will be a flickery-eyed drooling zombie.
- Never, never, ever again, teach Baby Boy sound related tricks- noises that seem amusing and cute in the day time, quickly become the stuff of nightmares at 3am- in Baby boy's case endless raspberries- I literally think he has mastered circular breathing- although the first three months of colicky crying should have made that obvious.
- Never, never, teach Baby Boy hand related tricks- I taught him to clap down on to my hands the other day, which seemed like a good idea at the time but he likes it so much that he has taken to clapping his hands down on everything. This is normally absolutely fine but having my breasts 'clapped' enthusiastically in the wee hours while trying to feed the hungry boy, jerks me out of autopilot mode and ensures that after putting Baby Boy back down, I take that much longer to get back to sleep.
- Never, never, ever again, let my husband order baby equipment- it is guaranteed to arrive loudly (scary door buzzer) by weird courier at 7.30 am on a Saturday morning, just when I have persuaded Baby Boy that sleeping for an extra half an hour is a good idea.
- Never, never, forget to put my glasses in the same place every night- stumbling downstairs to the front door, first peering at the delivery man, then having to bend down in my dressing gown and put my face three inches away from the box to read the lettering and work out the item is actually for us, is not good for my self-esteem (why would you ever courier a Baby Safety Gate, on a Saturday morning, at 7.30 am ?!!)
- Never, never, leave what can be done the night before, to the next morning. Once contact lenses are inserted, the revelation of a turmeric stained playmat from last night's takeway curry is not an improvement to my mood and the prospect of a kitchen full of washing up might be the straw that breaks the donkey's back.
- I would try and think of two more things but I can feel my zombie self eating my brain...