March 14, 2006
Humming to the same tune
Some people were obviously under the impression that we would be unable to broker a peace accord that would result in the cessation of hostilities in the border skirmish that is the time between 8pm and 6am.
But you and I, punkin, we got it worked out.
We got it sorted.
We're getting some sleep.
Now, after a sitdown dinner in the slowly taking decorative shape dining room, at which you either eat or, as is more often the case, you don't, we head off for the bath.
The bathtime for us doesn't last anywhere near as long as it did under the reign of your mother, chiefly, I'm sure, due to the absence of snackfood. Subsequent to the performance of satisfactory oblutions, or when you get tired of sticking your rubber duck in my mouth, whichever comes first, we retire to your bedchamber.
There, after a final feed, you go to sleep, albeit often with a few halfhearted wails of protest. Then, punkin, you sleep.
Of course, you still wake up in the night, but it's usually only for a couple of seconds, a brief cry and a snuffle and then you're back off to sleep. Sometimes you wake up a bit more than that, and I need to come in, lie you down and pat your back for a few seconds. Either way, it's over very quickly and you're settled back into the land of nod.
You're also not the greatest clock reader in the world, so you don't always wakeup at 630am as we'd prefer, instead this morning you settled on 5am as being an adequate time at which to surface, but nonetheless we're very happy with the block of time we're getting.
And just one more thing punkin.
I'm pretty sure that there's a reason why no-one has yet gone to market with an alarm clock whose Unique Selling Proposition is "Drenches you with a Cup of Hot Vomit!". Please, your mum has a clock radio, she doesn't need your assistance to wake up in that particular fashion.