For the last three nights (previous to last night. Or should I say, for maximum ominous emphasis, ‘Last Night’), DB2 had slept ok. By his standards anyway. In the normal world, up every three hours would still be fairly shite, but for us, it was ok. We could live with it.

Then, just as we were getting complacent, we got the Night From Hell. DB2 nodded off scrumptiously easily in the evening, leaving OH and I free and smugly enjoying a relaxing night in front of the tv (oh ok,ok yes, I was playing with Dunzy the horse again. Happy?).

Then, at 9, he awoke. And then…pretty much didn’t return to sleep until about 4:30am. Yes, your maths serves you correctly. That is 7.5 hours awake in the night.

What was wrong with him? I hear you cry. Was he ill? Was he teething? Was he feeling lonely and wanted cuddles? Yes, and no is the answer to that one. Yes, he had a snuffly cold, which didn’t help. Yes, he was teething, which meant he was drooling like a rabid dog. And yes, he wanted cuddles. But was he crying? No. In fact, most of the time, he was PRACTICING TALKING. I kid you not. All we could hear was him ‘ba ba ba-ing’ and ‘goo goo goo-ing’, and every time I glanced over the edge of the Moses basket, I could just make out his little chubby head in the dim light, grinning from ear to ear, as if to say ‘well, hello mummy! Would you like to join me?’ (I strongly suspect he was practicing his answers for University Challenge.)

I hate to admit it, but a lot of swearing went on. (not at him, I should emphasise. Just in general.) and a lot of sighing, stropping, throwing pillows desperately over ears and snapping at each other.

Then, after nodding off at 4:30, he was awake again at 6:30! Fresh as a daisy! I tell no lies! And he remained fresh as a daisy until he nodded off in the stroller at 9am. Weird, weird kid.

Which leads me on to the day. Christ, and i thought the night was bad. I took DB1 and DB2 to the health visitors for DB1s 2 year health check. First annoyance… It was right over the other side of town. By about thirty minutes of walking uphill, heaving the stroller and the buggy board, with two fairly heavy children on board, I decided to purchase some sustanence from Sainsburys, to wake me up a bit. What did I get? A chocolate bar? A can of Diet Coke? Nope. A whole baguette. Yes, one of the long ones. And I proceeded to demolish most of it, with help from DB1.

Got to the clinic, and DB1 was fascinated by the fish tank. Bless him! I thought. (idiot woman). Barely five minutes had elapsed when another little boy joined him. Or tried to. DB1 didn’t really give him a chance to even glance at the fish,before letting out a warlike cry and pummelling the shit out of him, bellowing ‘get away from my fish’. He then repeated this when the poor lad tried to look at the toys. What made matters worse is that the boy was clearly mentally disabled. Never been so ashamed in all my life. DB1 was so evilly triumphant as well, completely oblivious to the horrified looks of everyone else waiting in the room. Mortified, I slunk into our appointment.

But then, it got better. I needed to take the (now tantrumming) DB1s shoes off so he could be weighed. So I popped DB2 (also moaning and whining) back in his stroller for a minute while I did so. Barely ten seconds later, I heard a sickening thud and an ear piercing shriek. DB2 had actually managed to quite literally catapult himself from the stroller, and was lying face down on the carpet, howling his head off. By this point, I could actually feel the heat from the neon sign flashing ‘bad mother’ over my head.

And then, to top it off, on the way home we rode over a dog turd. Again. Argh!!!

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