zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

When I was 21, I could stay out pretty much all night, get up and go to work (providing abysmal customer service, of course!!) and be ready for another night out after a short kip on the couch. I distinctly remember discovering the restorative effects of Vegemite on toast after only two hours' sleep, and mustering up the courage to venture forth into the land of clubbing for several nights in a row. Back then, my biggest concern was having enough energy to dance, and my most pressing responsibility was looking vaguely interested when speaking to customers at work. And then, of course, when it was all too much I could simply go to bed early and catch up on as much sleep as I liked. Those were the days.

Since Team O'Toole arrived to brighten our lives, sleep deprivation has become pretty standard in our house. Now, I know I'm stating the obvious for any family with young children, especially three babies within four years. I also realise that I have been blessed with relatively good sleepers, as all of my kids have "slept through" from quite young ages. However, most nights we get up a few times to retrieve dummies, give drinks of water, change wet beds, distribute cuddles after bad dreams, or just plain old breastfeed (usually this is my job, not Christian's!!) I think most mummies and daddies operate with a thin veneer of sleep deprivation 99% of the time, and we just get on with it because it's normal. But every now and then, a particularly bad night can throw a spanner in the works in a big way. Last night was one of the those nights.

Poor old Jack has had a cough for quite a few weeks now, a niggling dry cough that bothers him predominantly in the evening and early morning. Last night he coughed non-stop from the time he went to bed, and no cough medicine in the world could help him. His coughing woke Maisie, who started to cry. Her crying woke everyone else, leading to more coughing, crying from Phoebe, and desperate attempts to end the chaos from Mummy and Daddy. After almost two hours of trying to settle Maisie (every time she stopped crying, Jack coughed again. You could practically hear it coming...), I gave up and took Jack and Maisie out to the loungeroom, propped him up on a arm chair, popped Mais onto the boob, and tried not to acknowledge the fact it was 3.30am. Meanwhile, Christian tried to convince Phoebe that the world was not ending if Jack was out of his bed, and spent the rest of the night putting her back into bed. All up, I calculate the family got about 45 minutes sleep in total, which made me a very attractive specimen this morning.

Christian left for work at 6.30, as normal, and the day began as well as it could. I think I coped pretty well, all things considered. I only put the car keys in the freezer once. I remembered that the kids had appointments for haircuts, and actually drove to the right place (although I think I might have driven a fair bit under the speed limit...) I'm pretty sure I fed the kids, although I couldn't tell you what I put on the plates! Maisie spent a great deal of time yawning theatrically in her car seat, like a little diva we had rudely kept awake! I made it to Jack's appointment with the doctor on time, and stayed awake on the ultra-comfy waiting room chairs. I think my red-rimmed eyes and down-trodden expression even helped keep the bank open for five minutes when I arrived at closing time. I went to put Maisie to bed, and walked into the toilet instead (and then had no idea what I was doing in there!?!) I do feel a bit sorry for my lovely friends who will have to consume the cake I have just made, as I have no idea what ingredients went into it. (If I just slather it with pink icing, it should be ok, right??) It is now just after 9pm, and it would appear that Maisie is too tired for her last feed. If I get ready for bed now, it should guarantee that she'll wake up in ten minutes, shouldn't it? If I prop her up with me in an armchair, I might even be able to doze.........zzzzzzzzzzz.