Don’t look now, but I think Henry might actually be sleeping in his crib.
We haven’t really cracked the sleeping thing yet, which is a shame, because me + not much sleep = crazy-haired lady with personality disorder. Among other things, in the past few days I have eaten an entire packet of Jaffa Cakes in five minutes, woken up thinking that Henry had turned into a duvet and I’d squashed his little duck-feather head, cried for no reason (many times) and found an episode of Bang Goes the Theory genuinely funny (only once, thankfully). Henry sleeps, alright, but not anywhere that makes it convenient for me to sleep at the same time. He wants to be held, or he wants to be in our bed. You can put him down in the crib if you like, but you’d better believe he’ll be awake again and looking for food in ten minutes or less. And let that be a lesson to you for next time.
Part of the problem is me: after our little episode in hospital where I decided to run to the loo after a whole night of crossing my legs, only for Henry to choke himself spectacularly on mucus while I was gone, I’m completely paranoid about sleeping when he sleeps. Which is unfortunate, considering that ‘sleep when the baby sleeps’ was the advice I heard most often when pregnant. So I don’t mind him sleeping in our bed for now, despite being completely against it before he was born: at least this way I can wake up and check that he’s still breathing without having to get out of bed and poke him in the ribs.
Also, I get to look at this all night:
Which can’t be bad.
I will get him in that crib eventually (any advice? Please share. No, really. PLEASE). It’s pretty enough to stand in the corner of our room just as decoration, but frankly, I’m going insane with this paltry amount of shut-eye. And on a completely unrelated note, Tesco is running out of Jaffa Cakes.