DAY 24 – The Crying Game

Well, today was more disaster than success.

So far my time as the daytime parent-in-charge has been marvellous, wonderful, amazing. Not today.

Proceedings started on the wrong foot due to a lack of sleep for all of us because THE COUGH kept her awake while the Milk Lady and I were running around trying to find new remedies. Vapour rub on chest, vapour rub on feet (that's a new one for me), Olbas oil in water, and nasal spray. The patients was greased to the max while her room smelt like a cross between a sexy spa steam room and a rugby changing room. Didn't seem to work though.

A breakfast of blueberry muffin was given a bit of attention with some going down but the effort was lacklustre. The bottle of breast milk was guzzled but not at the usual rapid speed.

Then for nap one at the new, pushed back time of 0930. "Not a chance" was the vibe I was given via body language and eyes popping out of The Lady's head. After 50 minutes of songs, squats, reading and lunges, I gave up. There were no tears but she did not want a sleep.

During this farcical attempt to put her to bed I had received a message to say Baby Sensory was cancelled. Something about The Leader being stuck in traffic (or being drafted in to lead a brainwashing seminar elsewhere).

From 1100 onwards M'Lady made the decision to spend the day mostly crying or at least whinging. Fun times. I even took her into the loft room with all the window open to chill her out a bit.

After failing to get her to take a bottle I decided a walk was in order so we donned our voting attire and plodded off to mark an X on the EU Referendum ballot paper. I followed the advice of the creatures from Day 23.

The walk was punctuated by the sounds of half-arsed crying and a cough that was more smoking veteran than seven-month-old baby. Inside the polling station, aside from casting my vote, I was quizzed by a pregnant electoral officer on the effectiveness of Sophie the Giraffe, which was being chewed on by my partner in voting.

"It's a mandatory purchase," I explained. 
"Some things are negotiable but for whatever reason ALL babies must have Sophie. 
"Buy it. Soon". 

After voting it was onward to a cafe to buy caffeine and a sandwich. The motion sent M'Lady off to deep sleep, which was ideal – except the fact that she was snoring and sounded like a pickled tramp.

Woke up an hour later, crying. Crying didn't stop until 1500 at which point it was feeding time. Again, she didn't want any so I brought the 1600 solid food session forward to try to get some sustenance in her. Delicious selection on the menu too: Steamed Apple, Rice Cakes, and Tarragon Chicken. The miserable so and so had a suck on the rice cake and turned her nose up at the rest of it, while crying and making an annoying shrieking noise.

Sprints were then undertaken to try to stem the sadness and that was a winner, so much so that she fell asleep. We went to Deen City Farm to meet friends Rosie and her own A-baby, which was lovely if a bit rainy.

Back home, crying commenced and attempts at feeding were batted away by a little (fat) hand with  aggressive disdain.

So, very little food taken on and very few smiles dished out to me. Added to that was the general feeling that people might vote to leave the most successful union for peace in history.

Then while I was bouncing the little munchbunch on my lap she fell asleep mid-bounce, which was a tell-tale sign that she was not herself.

Thankfully Mama arrived at 1800, which brought some inescapable smiles from our girl ahead of bath and bedtime, which all went like clockwork.

Not long after, Wifey ventured into the loft for a shower. She returned quickly. That was Ominous.

"Did you open the windows?" 

Yes I did. 

"Yes, there's been torrential rain today hasn't there?" 

Yes, there has. Oh.

Oh dear. No excuses. I had left the windows wide open to allow cool air in for my daughter, allowing the monsoon to water the bedroom contents like prize plants at the Chelsea Flower Show. Not even my sleep-deprived state could be blamed for the oversight, which meant we had to sleep on a different mattress, which was about as comfortable as a concrete floor.

It was one of those days and goes down as the new LOW-POINT BENCHMARK.

DAY 21 - NAP-TIME NINJA

TO COINCIDE with me being desperate to catch up on some Zs the poor lady hardly slept which meant both of us parents were in action most of the night. The savage cough had returned. The Milk Lady insists that A-bomb hasn't been smoking but I'm going to start checking her pockets.

Not much shut-eye was had between 0500 and 0700 so my goal was to get a decent sleep shift in the bag at 0900. MLady did not want to cooperate though. She was pretty much asleep on my shoulder but each time I put her down in the cot she jumped out of her skin and began to cry. This was not the norm and my diagnosis was that lying flat as causing her discomfort. Half an hour went by, twinkle twinke had been exhausted in all of its forms, the little girl at the end of the lane had been given too many bags of wool, and nobody believed "life was but a dream" after the amount of boat rowing they had done.

Eventually, after another 15 minutes of speed squats laden with A-bizzle, she was in a deep sleep and I had successfully pulled my trembling arms from under her. That was the first part of Mission Nap done. Now I needed to conquer the next almost impossible task... the exit.

There were traps everywhere, from crinkly play-mats and perilous plastic ball trip-hazards to recently-filled nappies and musical instruments. A toenail brushing against any of those items would have seen my cover blown and the wannabe-sleeper's eyes pinging open.

A woken baby was not an option so I prepared myself mentally for the covert job. After uttering my final rendition of Amazing Grace I stooped down below the top rail. I was out of sight, even for the laser-eye lady. Next I was into a commando crawl, moving over the narrow carpeted thoroughfare being sure to dodge the Cow in case it wanted to "do you ABC". I had reached the end of the cot, located next to the final hurdle – the door. 

I was hunched down with one hand softly holding the silver door handle and the other stabilising my body. So far so good, no murmurings. As with most gauntlet challenges the last part was the most difficult...getting out of the room without being seen or heard, then re-shutting the door.

I carefully pulled down the exit handle. It creaked but I got away with it. At the precise moment of the pull-down, I rose to my feet and nonchalently removed my body using the means of a silent twirl. Once out I just had to lower the handle and wait for the little click. Click. I could breathe again.

Given the importance of a baby's sleep and overall routine to its well-being it baffles me that during NCT classes no time is devoted to operating like a ninja.

If it means your baby will stay alseep you must be prepared to throw yourself to the deck on the slightest flinch of your nemesis. You  must be ready to hurl yourself out of the room as soon as the gap becomes big enough.

If you are a heavy breather, you must hold your breath. A sleeping baby takes precedence.