My Orla, my Orla.
Isn't it odd how one minute you are up to your eyeballs in nappy changes and bemoaning the number of times the same shoulder has been puked on in the one morning, and then all of a sudden you turn around and you're signing the school bus contract for this September?
You'd think that by now I'd be getting marvellous sleep then, wouldn't you? Last night Hamish came through and joined me in the bed at 3am and wanted to chat. At 3:30am he eventually told me the reason why he couldn't sleep and had been chatting for 30 minutes: he needed a banana. At 3:31 I stood in the kitchen peeling a banana. At 3:32 I returned to my bed to find Hamish lying fast asleep in my place, so I sat on the edge of the bed and ate a banana in the middle of the night.
Then I went through to the spare bedroom and fell asleep and around 4:15am I woke up to the sound of Orla stage whispering in my ear "I've been to the toilet all by myself and I have done a wee-wee". For me, no news is good news. When do you actually get a good night's sleep? Will I ever get to boast to the other mummies "Yes, Orla was sleeping through at 8 years!"