Sleep!

Oh this is the best, I never realised how good sleep was until I had kids. I even did my thesis on it, and I still didn’t know.
I was already chronically sleep-deprived from my job, and then along came babies like a freight train full of fatigue and smelly nappies.
The joke is, I thought I was ready. I was all like ‘I can handle this, what’s a little lost sleep’.
OMFuckingG, I was not ready.
Anyone that tells you that sleep deprivation is not torture, give them a baby, some coffee, and just wait for them to start guzzling anti-depressants, like a junkie at a, well, at nothing, just like a regular junkie.
Have you ever got up at night to change a poosplosion? A poopocalypse? A poopageddon? It is the absolute worst, mainly because it’s something I can do and I can’t leave it to my poor wife. One time, I took the nappy off, and he shat on me so violently that my silhouette could be seen on the door behind me, like some ghastly reminder of my bad choices and inability to keep it in my pants.
I remember one morning I woke up, we’d been cluster-feeding all night, and Em had gone to work, and left poor, helpless, vulnerable me to the whims of William (just the one child).
I remember him waking at 5am, and wanting food. I miserably crawled to the kitchen, I think I had a cold too, and I lay near the pantry moaning in despair. I was hoping that the deep rumblings of my amplified agony might shake down some bread or biscuits or flour, but I’m even weak at whinging and eventually I had to stand and face the day.
Importantly, if you’re a single parent with more than one kid, you are, without doubt, a fucking hero. There is no other way to put it. I couldn’t do it. I’d die. I hope you know how amazing you are.
Now we have Harry, and he is even worse. He’s a tweaker for breast milk, an addict for the boob, a craver of tit juice, and he wakes four times a night. Fortunately we co-sleep with the older boy, so he doesn’t wake at all and we get a bit more sleep. Suck on that, haters. Being the hero husband I am, I wake too, and flutter around like an ugly, useless butterfly offering to help, knowing full well I’m about as handy in this situation as a chilli-flavoured condom.
Consequently, I’m more worn out than a vibrator in a convent and I fall asleep faster than the Docker’s can name their premierships.
Can’t wait for him to be on solid food, I wonder if he can have pizza at 12 weeks. Send help.
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