Last night marked our ninth consecutive broken night. It all started when BB came down with a bug last Monday, and spent the majority of the day in her nightie on the sofa (pictured). So I expected an unsettled night or two, but not nine.
She’s bright as rain now, but the bug has taken her usual night time routine with it. It takes her ages to settle, she cries repeatedly, and then she wakes throughout the night crying out for us. Not what we need when trying to conserve energy for our new arrival in a couple of weeks.
Worst still, I’ve got absolutely no idea how to deal with it. It’s probably not surprising she’s playing up – the last month has seen several big changes including a new bed (her old one has been made back into a cot) and graduation from her nursery’s toddler unit to preschool, which unfortunately – and unavoidably – have come at the same time. Add to that impending
threat arrival of a brother or sister, and I suppose it’s a recipe for disaster.
So instead of telling her off for bad behaviour at bed time Misery Guts has taken to phoning Father Christmas to tell him all the things she’s done that day that are good (he gets his phone out and dials and everything) in a bid to encourage her to be even better.
It’s not working.