I haven’t moaned for a long time about sleep-deprivation. It’s not because it’s not happening – it’s because I’ve gotten fed-up of moaning about it. Let me give you a little photo-montage to explain how it goes…
In fact, each night he takes over more and more of Maxi’s pillow. So she wakes up and pushes him aside. Like Goldilocks he tries his luck in the bottom bunk. Midi then wakes up and comes stumbling in to me, where she likes to spend the Silent Hours whirling into the covers like a caterpillar in a cocoon or head-butting me till I move over.
Mini, I think, taught Foster Cat his moves. She’s always primed, ready for Nocturnal Parental Torment at any time. The slightest noise will rouse her to come battering into our room, squealing at her big sister until she moves over, and commencing her kicking and punching of me until I move over and give her half the bed. She usually throws in a few wails of “Nooooo, Daddy too ‘melly! Yuck!” so that he doesn’t get away scot-free.
I think this last photo sums up 2am in our household, though. Need I say any more?!