Friday, 17 March 2017
Yeah. I’ve been abit crap with the old blogging this week. Been to see my Mum for a couple of days. I’ll tell you about her at another juncture. She’s awesome. I’ve also been…..SLEEP TRAINING. aaaaarrrgggghhh
Yes. We decided that now we are through the worst of the sleep regression/growth spurt/ brain development/ molar movement/ all other excuses that I use for my first born’s sleep, that we would indeed crack on with a bit of SLEEP TRAINING.
Sleep Training: The sort of word that should always be preceded with an Edvard Munch screamesque emoji. You’re probably thinking why the hell have we not done this before. Your kid’s sleep is a frickin disaster. Surely, some sort of training program has been implemented. Oh, my friends it has and, yes of course we have tried sleep training. Believe me we have. I’ve done bits of The Baby Whisperer, glanced at Gina and we all know where that ended up (Fara in Surbiton). Read stuff on t’internet about Mr. Ferberiser. Personally, I could never do this technique because a. I would end being an emotional wreck and b. it sounds like a type of vibrator in Ann Summers.
I have taken bits of all sorts of techniques and come up with my own. Every child is different and mine is certainly different in the best possible way. My daughter always goes for the laugh. Puts knickers on her head, makes antlers out of cutlery, uses her pyjamas for toddler morris dancing. She has also learnt the word,’Peacock’ but doesn’t always add the pea. (That’s fun on public transport when she shouts that out). I always said that I would rather have the kid from the film Parenthood, that sticks its head in the bin, than a genius that knows all of its colours by the time its 17 months.
My small one doesn’t like me staying in the room and talk her through it. She finds that incredibly stressful or possibly highly irritating. I would. Having someone staring at you from the dark talking you through the fact that you’re not asleep would really get up my kilt.
She doesn’t like me sitting next to her and slowly creeping away. That just makes her angry. She doesn’t like me picking her up particularly. The thing that we just need to crack is ending the paw patrol.
Basically, our method happened by accident. I decided to walk to the big Sainsburys on Saturday night. I needed some fresh air and some much needed exercise. We also needed tea bags and milk. The small one waved me off and went down no probs for her Pa. She woke up a bit that night but I did not once sleep on the floor.
The next night, I wasn’t there at all as I was at a Cat café with some friends. Now, I’m allergic to cats and more of a dog person. I had also perused the menu before we went and there was no champers. Cream tea with no Champers. What’s the actual point!? Anyway, I survived and had a ruddy brilliant night with some of my besties. We went for one drink so we’ve all finally grown up. My better half also survived. I got a text asking me what else he could feed our young one as she was, having a feeding frenzy. Again, she woke up a wee bit but my God, I’ll take going in a couple of times to do a calming stroke of the hair rather than an entire night on paw patrol. We had a bit of a crap night, granted on Monday but I cocked up there as we were at my Mum’s and after a couple of glasses of Malbec I thought it would be nice to snuggle in the big bed. She spent all night trying to use me as some glorified soft play area. At one point she actually tried to climb on my face but I’m not going to beat myself up as the next night Mum took the monitor and I had eight hours! Yes, eight hours. The amount of sleep that you’re supposed to have. Boom shackalack! Thanks Mum. You’re a star. Apparently, there was a bit of thrashing about so Mum slept in the spare bed next to her but they had a good night. The next morning, I went in and there was my little angle snuggled in the big bed with her Grandad watching Paw Patrol. Oh, the irony.
So, things for now are looking up. There’s been a bit of hysteria, a bit of swearing (from me) and a couple of broken nights but she’s getting the idea. This is a hard habit to crack and she’s doing really well. I feel incredibly responsible as it’s my doing but hey; parenthood is trial and much error isn’t it? You can read all the books in Waterstones but when you’re stood at the hard, cold face of parenting, wearing a snot covered Berghaus fleece, no amount of well-intentioned literature will get you through an epic toddler melt down. Anyway, Fara in Surbtion have done rather well out of me, haven’t they?
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