Hurrah for Mother's Groups

Anna has been a bit stroppy this week and consequently a bit hard to be around. Actually, she's been great to be around as long as I am around very close to her (i.e., skin to skin contact at best, or within reach-out-and-touch distance if not) but if I get up and move, say to go to the toilet or cook something or just do any other very small non-baby thing to enhance my sanity, it doesn't go down very well at all. Worst of all, her bedtime routine has all gone to shit and she's suddenly not a happy camper if I put her down at her usual 7pm. Because I am weak and lily livered pragmatic and sensible, rather than fight her I just get her up again. She's delighted with this new strategy and she plays on her rug with her toys until 8.30 or 9.00 or so, then she has another feed and goes to bed with no complaints, just like the angel that I know she can pretend to be.

Just to get my own back and to remind myself that I am the adult and therefore hold the balance of power (Ha!!! ha ha ha HA HA! Cackles like an especially excited banshee) I have implemented a new 'we still get up at 7 o'clock even if we go to bed late, darling' rule. Well, I figured it worked on my brother and me, when I was 10 and my mother finally waved the white flag on the Great Bedtime War, and I don't see any harm in starting early. (HA HA! Does the banshee thing again). Unless harm can be categorized as my profound shock at seeing my smiling little cherub's 'first thing in the morning and happy to see you' face replaced by a snarling troll; in which case, yes, there is some psychological harm, certainly enough to make me dread the cold winter mornings on school days lurking on my horizon (if I start lobbying now, maybe I could convince the Education Department to start classes at 10 am by the time Anna starts school). However, out of stubbornness and a strong conviction that I am right – I don't get these very often, so I have to make the most of them when they arrive – every morning I gird my heart and continue to fling the door open as if I really want to be there, I cry 'good morning, my precious' as I scoop up my little troll, and I draw the blind with a gay flourish and sing the 'good morning sunshine' song to the bright, happy and unsuspecting world as if oblivious to the fact that the creature in my arms is rusting the hinges off next door's gates with her scowl.

And no, the times above are not typo's or wild fantasies; in the past Anna has slept from about 7pm until about 7am with, lately, a 10 minute breastfeed in the wee small hours; and yes I am aware that this is not at all usual for a baby and that most other mothers hate me with a sleep-deprived mania. Don't tell me I have had it lucky up to now and should shut the fuck up complaining, because I don't want to hear it. I have a right to stamp my foot and shake my fist at the universe and demand a continuation of baby-sleep perfection. And don't tell me that if Anna is going to get up at 7am I should cut her a bit of slack in the evenings and let her stay up till 8.30 or 9pm because I don't want to hear that either. I like my evenings to myself to watch crap TV and write my blog, and eating is always fun too. And don't even mention the idea that if I insist on a 7pm bedtime I should expect a 5.30am start to compensate, because Anna might sneak a look on this blog one day and get ideas. It will be bad enough having to explain why Mum can say 'fuck' but she can't, let alone trying to do it at the ungodly hour of 5.30am.

Just for the record, if there are any gung-ho but insane executives and/or ladder climbers out there: 5.30 in the morning is not get up time; it is roll over and snuggle in time. So stop doing it because you are setting a bad precedent for everyone else.

Anyway, hurrah for Mother's Groups! Mine is kind of tedious and depressing in many different ways but yesterday, oh joy! I discovered that almost all the other babies are also going through a clingy possessive stage, and all of them have started to rebel against their usual night time habits. (One babe has reverted to real little babyhood and started to wake every two hours again, which I think is a good enough reason to take her back as a faulty item and insist on a refund. You'd never guess the fault by looking at the baby: she's bright eyed and bushy tailed. It's her mum who's the giveaway: she looks like a badly drawn heroin chick in need of a long, deep, warm fix). I have never felt so glad to hear the miseries of other people. To know that however grumpy Anna and I get with each other these days, there are other people out there who have it so much worse, cheers me up so much I think I might just pile a whole lot of toys in Anna's cot with her and let her party on all night.