We Sleep The Sleep Of The Furious
Whenever May Blossom wakes up these days, the first thing she says is, in a very irritated tone of voice: ‘I didn’t want to go to sleep.’ She regards us getting her to fall asleep as a cruel trick. It might be because when she is complaining in her cot about not wanting to sleep we have started telling her that she doesn’t have to go to sleep, she just needs to lie quietly. I think she believes us and is then hugely pissed off to wake some hours later to discover she slept anyway. Yesterday she elaborated for me: ‘I don’t want to go to sleep. I just want to wake up.’
I feel the opposite. I can’t wait to go to sleep any opportunity I get, and I feel very cross when I’m woken every half hour at night by a half-arsed contraction or a pelvis yelping for more relief than panadol (or a teething toddler shouting out angrily that she didn’t mean to fall asleep that time either).
Beyond that, things are slow and reasonably calm around here. I rarely leave the house or wear more than underwear. The neighbours politely (or in great fear) avert their eyes because I like to have the shutters and curtains open for the breeze. May Blossom and H run errands and go on little outings together. I cry a bit each time they go do something fun that I can’t manage, like a trip to the zoo or the pool. And then I fall asleep. The baby kicks and grows. Whenever the heartburn abates I eat things that are supposed to bring on labour, like pineapple and curry. Otherwise I subsist on Milo.
These are funny, strange last days of being a mother of one. May Blossom clings to my belly and talks to the baby a lot. She sings it songs and tells it she loves it and can’t wait to meet it. I’m a bit excited too.