It was a battle plan of epic strategy. Well, I made it out to be I guess. The biggest problem was what to do with Keira. The heat was terrible and couldn’t have slept in her room last night; Riley screaming or no screaming.
So I suggested she camp out in the lounge room with Nan. Under the air conditioning. She is normally pretty precious about her bed and her own space, so I expected a ‘no’, but instead there was a “YEAH, OK!” and proceeded to help us drag her mattress and linen out. Then from 7pm onwards she kept asking, “Can I go to bed yet?” If only she was this keen to go to bed at an early hour usually.
Without having to worry about her comfort, I turned my attention to Riley. Here’s how our night went:
10.52 – 11.29pm – CRYING. Of various levels of volume and type. Mostly, when I went in there, he kept pointing at my breasts and grabbing for them (So not unlike every other night I go to bed in my own room) but he wasn’t especially hungry. Just angry: “HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY BOOBS AWAY!!”
12.45am – OK, this time he was hungry. And I was too tired to argue. Feed.
5.30am – FEED
This may look like the feeding patterns of say, oh, a three or four month old. For the record, Riley was sleeping through at that age. It just went downhill at about 7 months.
But I slept. And I dreamed. I woke up this morning at a level of freshness that is quite alien these days. And Riley has woken up none the worse.
Tonight’s challenge: Cut out that 12.45am feed. Or stretch it out to cut out the other one.
