Readers, forgive me. I’ve become complacent.
We escaped teething hell (relatively) unscathed. We’re handling toddler tantrums. We’ve even, somehow, managed to teach SB to count (to three, at least) and to come out with a variety of entertaining words and phrases. It’s not been easy, and I’ve never once been smug about getting there. In fact, there’s only one element of parenting I’ve been smug about.
From the start, SB has been a good sleeper. It could be that she was formula fed, so she was sleeping through from about twelve weeks. It could be that we didn’t try and push any kind of routine onto her. It could be (and most probably is) just sheer dumb luck. But I’ve been smug. I’ve read of other people’s difficulties with getting their babies and toddlers to sleep, and felt a little bit of self-satisfaction at the knowledge that my child sleeps like a dream.
Whether it’s in our own home, or on holiday, or visiting, or wherever we’ve been, she loves her sleep and has been very easy. And yes, I’ve become complacent, and more than a little bit smug.
Until the weekend. We went back to see family, because Daf was in a pantomime and I was filming it for them. Meanwhile, SB stayed with my parents, who did a fantastic job of babysitting her, got her off to bed at a reasonable time, and when we got back, she was snoozing in her travel cot. Not a problem – right?
We transferred her upstairs to the bedroom where we’d be sleeping, and she was fine. Fab. Not a problem. Daf wanted to stay upstairs with her, and I grabbed us some food to head upstairs with.
Somewhere along the way, I got roped into a “who’s the most bendy” competition (my family all have EDS too, but I think we’re all in agreement that I won the competition). At my brother’s request I lifted my foot up to touch the back of my head – and then let go of my foot accidentally, smacking it into the solid oak arm of a rocking chair at tremendous speed, resulting in what we’re almost certain is a broken metatarsal (my first ever break!), everyone else wet themselves laughing at me and started taking pictures and snapchatting it to everyone… and along the way, the noise levels rose, and SB woke up.
Not a problem, I thought, as Daf helped me hobble upstairs, looking totally exasperated with me (thankfully he wasn’t too gleeful in his “I told you so” and helped me to strap my toe up). She’ll drift off now it’s quietened down.
SB had other ideas. Once she was awake, she wanted to stay awake – and stay awake she did. Until 2am, as a matter of fact. We tried everything, from cuddles to calpol to good old fashioned “back to sleep, SB, you’ll be tired in the morning”, and she was having none of it.
Oh, and of course she was up at 7am the next morning.
Moral of the story? I have two. One – don’t be smug and complacent about sleep when you have a toddler. Two – if you’re going to break your toe, for the love of god, do it quietly.