The Big Sleep

It’s four thirty in the morning and I’m lying on the floor staring at the dark grey shadows dancing across my bedroom ceiling. I have a shooting pain in my lower back which has caused a tingling sensation to both my legs and is making its way to my feet, which are numb as the flee ridden cat blanket isn’t big enough to cover the large expanse that was once my stomach

I don’t think I’ve been this uncomfortable since the unfortunate, short-lived camping expedition to West Wales, which resulted in my sleeping on lump of rock comforted by the warmth of four towels after Lola, our 4 stone lab decided to pee all over the sleeping bags and the tent. I have to say it was the longest most over-rated night of my life and ended any romantic notions I might have had of ever camping again.

However, tonight I am not in West Wales. I am actually in the warmth and comfort of my own home. But, my adored even worshiped king-size sleepeze bed is now home to the Darling Duo, who have decided - despite my best intentions - to take control of every aspect of my life, including my sleep.

Three months ago I decided that the time had come to confront the fact that the Angelic Two were no longer ‘babies’ but, in fact, little people who had outgrown the confines of their milk-stained cots.

After three days of dismantling the wooden shacks with a hammer and a chisel, and re-arranging their room in preparation of housing the ‘big beds,’ it suddenly dawned on me , ‘How the hell am I going to stop them from climbing out of bed at night?’

Oh dear God, the books! I am going to have to refer to the ‘how to’ section of those books.

After reading and re-reading the chapter on ‘bed time’ from the eminent author of ‘I’ve never had a baby but I’m going to tell you how to raise one,’ I was beginning to think that maybe this wasn’t going to be as challenging as I first thought.

Wrong again! It is a bloody nightmare.

Having installed them in their new beds (one pink and one blue) and confronted my irrational thoughts that they would somehow manage to dislocate an arm or a leg after rolling out of the towering bed or, even worse suffocate themselves by the killer man-sized duvet and pillows, I embarked on the new bedtime ritual.

At 9.0 pm, I would tuck them into bed with promises of bed time story (or five) then lights out while I hold their hands gently rubbing them anti—clockwise until they go to sleep. Finally, once their delicious eyes have closed and their breathing slows to an occasional snore, I take those long awaited few steps from their room to Freedom.

As I lie in my king-size sanctuary, savouring the delights of new Egyptian cotton sheets, free from toys and wet patches, I slowly drift off into my alternative world free from debris and destruction.

But, around 2.0 am I will receive the first blow to the head. Is it a foot or can it possibly be an arm? I will instinctively roll over and let the 2 stone male take charge of the left hand side of the bed. A mere few minutes later and another punch will land - this time to my cheek -from his angelic sister. She will resort to physical violence as a means to ensuring her rightful place centre stage in my bed.

Admitting defeat, I will concede, roll over and offer my only place of sanctuary to my Beloved Duo, grabbing the flimsy blanket and taking my rightful place on the floor and wondering silently how I arrived here.

P.S. Must remember to buy a bigger blanket!