Dear baby boy
For the first five months we had you with us you slept so well. You dropped night feeds quickly and we thought, ‘yes, we did it again’. I didn’t brag, I rarely talked about it, I knew that other Mums would hate me for it (hate is a strong word but yes, hate is the right word!)
Then one night you woke up with a barking cough and from that very night, you didn’t sleep again. Four, five, six times a night we would get out of bed to pop your dummy back in, peel you from where you had pinned yourself in the cot, and gently lull you back off to sleep. Broken sleep, I have found, is worse than no sleep.
Then Daddy had an accident at work and couldn’t help out in the nights as he couldn’t lift you. I grumbled a lot and got on with the exhausting night routine while trying to hold it together through the days. (There were tears, lots of tears!)
Daddy got stronger and started to help out. I got a few extra Z’s and became a happier sort of person once again.
Last week you woke up at 10pm and you were hot, very hot. I stripped you off, gave you medicine and after coming in to you three of four times, you ended up in our bed by 1am. The evening of the next day we ended up at the hospital. Your heart rate was over 200 and your temperature touching 40. But they sorted you right out and we were home within a few hours.
As we tried to get you to sleep in the cot, you screamed and screamed (I think expecting for a stranger to apply a cold instrument to your chest or stick a probe in your ear!) Bedtime the next night followed a similar routine, screaming, trauma.
But a miraculous thing happened. I woke up at 6am and it was the first time I’d woken up. There was obviously a slight panic. I cranked the monitor up to full volume and there it was, the gentle sound of your sleepy breathing. Three nights later, you’ve slept through four times! I’d like to thank you for this.
Now an apology. I’m sorry that we are about to rip you from your innocent slumber to take you to a huge building full of bright lights, hundreds of people and strange noises. I’m sorry that we are going to stick you in a fancy tin can that will make your ears hurt and will require you to sit still for three hours. (Yeah right, who am I kidding!) I’m sorry that four nights into your new routine, we are going to destroy it.
When we get home, and I trawl down those stairs for the fourth time that night, I won’t grumble. I’ll know it’s my fault for wanting some sun on my milky white body and a legitimate reason to drink a glass of cava for breakfast.
I love you wee man! Thanks for those four nights!
All my love