Last night I found myself commando crawling across the floor, holding my breath for fear my exhales would wake him. I reached the door and was just about to cross the boundary to freedom when those damn creaky floorboards alerted him to my escape and the torture began once again. I’m sure he has a special power that allows him to sense my presence. He can be in the deepest sleep and he will wake at the very moment I take my final step out of his room. If I’m lucky enough to actually make it into bed, he times it perfectly to wake just as I am about to fall asleep, or worse I’ve fell asleep and wake thinking its been hours but in fact its only been minutes!!! Everyone says it gets easier, first it was wait until he’s 12 weeks, then 12 weeks became 16 weeks, then it was wait until he starts weaning, then it was wait until he’s one. Well he’s nearly two and he still refuses to sleep…or should I say refuses to let me sleep! I’m still amazed how his twin brother can sleep through his screams, he has always had an ability to drown the screams with sweet slumber. Oh how I envy him!
Yet despite the never ending torment of sleep deprivation, there are those moments at 5am when I hold him and he nestles his cheek against my heart, I remember that it was not so long ago that I would lay awake at 5am dreaming that one day I would be woke in the night by a mini us, or those nights I spent crying after yet another period, or nights after hormone injections wondering if there would ever come a day that someone would cry for me in the night just for a cuddle, that one day someone would look at me like I was their everything. Its when he finally succumbs to sleep, that the silence reminds me that whilst I’m desperately seeking sleep there was once a time I was desperately seeking motherhood, and through the heartache, pain and fear I was blessed not just with one but two little ones who look at me and melt my heart. It gives me hope that although it can take a while, dreams can come true.