Sleep when baby sleeps?!

I silently lay on the bed as Harry finally sleeps, after fighting it for almost two  hours. I close my eyes and attempt to clear my mind. Harry takes a big breath. My eyes open. He's fine. I close my eyes again and imagine I'm in a boat, floating across calm ripples and heading for a long, dark tunnel. 'I haven't cleaned up his bowl. His chair is covered in broccoli. And I must post that letter today. Damn. I need to pee.'

Whoever said 'sleep when baby sleeps' must have had a housekeeper... an accountant... a chef... and a very good partner!

I must have tried to sleep when Harry has (in the day) about five times or so. I'd love to have attempted to do it many more times, but the intentions vanish, as I have so many other things to do. It used to be bad when I was with my husband, but it's ten times harder now, as I have more pressing things to sort out, like finances and housing etc. Not only that, I'm now feeding my son three meals a day, giving him an afternoon snack and a milk feed. I buy all fresh produce, cook, blend and freeze. I have more freezer bags than Cheryl Cole has shoes (and she has many apparently). I also have to eat. I know, how selfish of me. And don't get me started on all the cleaning (and of course sterilising). Oh, and I solely bath him every night.

Sometimes it takes my son AGES to actually go to sleep in the day too, even though we'd both be better off if he gave in. He can get a little cranky, as well as clumsy. His legs kick more than an over-enthusiastic footballer on trial, as I rock him in my arms.

If any mum knows exactly when their baby will go to sleep, then I'd like to know their secret! I do know that Harry is better off when he has a sleep before 11am, and another sleep in the afternoon before 4pm. Otherwise, I'm doomed.

I try my best to tire him, so that he wants those naps too - either by playing with him, getting him in his bouncer, letting him safely crawl and climb, use his walker. OR, I get him out and about at baby classes, swimming, shopping or walks in the fresh air. This brings me to say; HOW THE HELL CAN YOU SLEEP IN AISLE 19 OF TESCO'S? Babies enjoy the motion of being in the pram, pushchair or car seat. Sometimes, I merely start the engine and drive to the end of the road and Harry's eyes close. Before that he could be groaning as I get us both ready to head out the door.

Gone are the lazy Sundays when I read the paper, studied the fashion and gossip mags, applied a face mask, lay on the sofa and sipped a glass of wine, watched a film. Ate a roast at the pub, watched the footie. I could go on. It's just bloody amazing to have a shower without an audience these days - that's my luxury.

Ssssh! They're sleeping

My (shared) bathroom no longer has scented bubble bath displayed neatly beside the tub, nor does it have expensive body cream in the cabinet. I left those when I moved out. Damn. Instead, a green rubber frog (which says 'ribbit' don't you know, a pink squirty dolphin, lots of plastic tower blocks with holes and a wind-up penguin 'sleep' next to the bath now.

In the mornings, I often find white powder adorning the marble surface near the sink. No, I don't live with Kerry Katona. It's merely follow-on milk that's missed the bottle when I've blearily made up a milk feed at silly o'clock.

When I'm woken by my little human alarm every morning at 7am, without fail I say to myself: 'I must sleep when Harry sleeps today.' But it hardly ever happens. I'm too busy, or I don't think the general public are ready for me to lay down in the cereal aisle just yet.

So, whoever came up with 'sleep when baby sleeps', must have been skeletal, make-up free, a bit smelly and owned one messy house. Either that, or they had one brilliant partner...

Nah. It must have been a frickin' man!


Good toes: I've asked my mum to look after Harry for 20 mins tomorrow whilst I go for a RUN. Yes, I've committed myself. I moved furniture around to make some space. I can breathe again. I finally organised my (lack of) finances in a nice green folder. How grown up.

Naughty toes: Those devil choc chip cookies. And that evil rhubarb pie. Damn.