Newspaper article Evening Chronicle (Newcastle, England)

The Secret Diary of a Demented Mother Aged 36.5

Newspaper article Evening Chronicle (Newcastle, England)

The Secret Diary of a Demented Mother Aged 36.5

Article excerpt

Byline: By Jenny Lesley

In theory, changing the clocks this weekend should not make too much of a difference. In fact it should work in our favour with Fergus adjusting his 5.30am waking time an hour forward. I'm not moaning too much about his early bird starts as he is now sleeping for 10 hours solid at night - a huge improvement over a very short space of time. But just one teeny tiny hour would make the difference between getting up in what feels like morning rather than the middle of the night. I have been letting him into our bed for his first feed of the day but at 10 months old he is not content to snuggle up for long and by 5.45am he is usually jovially slapping Daddy on the head and sticking his fingers experimentally in whichever facial orifice he can find. For some reason Raymond can't sleep through this and, because I seem to be wide awake, I'm the one that gets up. So I am rediscovering very early mornings.

Kieran usually gets up to join us as he doesn't believe in letting good Gamecube time go to waste. Then Carys gets up because she can't bear to think she could be missing out on anything. All she is missing out on is Mummy frantically trying to amuse a small child without making too much noise. This is not for Daddy's benefit as she is usually pretty narked that yet again she is up and he is slumbering. The only reason a full brass band ensemble isn't playing downstairs with Fergus, although actually Fergus makes more noise on his own than a brass band, is that we have neighbours.

I always swore that before I had children I would buy a detached house but sadly I am worse at property developing than I am at contraception. Luckily the neighbours on the other side of our semi are very tolerant and have children themselves. However, their youngest is Emma's age so they are used to enjoying the lie-ins that teenagers allegedly bring. They have been remarkably nice about things like my homebirth and Fergus screaming through the night but I do feel a duty not to disturb them before the larks on a weekend morning.

So I sing Row the Boat in a ferocious whisper - I think I sound a bit like Edith Piaf but Fergus finds it tremendously funny. …

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