I can't do this anymore and...

And, and, and....

Last night it took a long time to get my boy to sleep. We tried a lot of the usual things and none of them worked. Over the years I have come to realise that the routine is crucial. If he is not in bed at 8.30pm, in his PJs, teeth brushed, water next to him, lying next to me, with his sleep story chosen and ready to start - then it won’t be smooth.

Daylight savings means I have not noticed the time. Some nights we get caught up doing other things…school holidays means we are busy and sometimes don’t have all the steps in place before 8.30pm.

Sometimes even if I have it all done and ready, 8.30pm rolls around and it’s not quite right. Some step has gone wrong, he can’t cope, and we have to start again.

Sometimes, like last night, he lies next to me and just cries and says “please, mama, I want to sleep”. He’s so tired and he can’t sleep. He’s in bed and he can’t sleep. All the conditions are right and he can’t sleep. “I can’t sleep” he says over and over and I try to change the track and I say “you can sleep” over and over.

Last night he said his head is so noisy, like a helicopter. I suggested we put Brahms on. If Brahms is louder, he might be able to focus on that, and not the loud, loud, loud day frustratingly bouncing around in his little body.

He said it wouldn’t work. I said we’d try it anyway. And 15 minutes later he was asleep.

I shared this on Instagram because I wanted to show how hard it is for some kids to sleep and how this is the reality for a lot of families - what would happen if we allowed this truth to be known? That heaps of families are still trying to help their babies sleep at five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…

Then I tried to get to sleep myself. My own brain its own construction site - banging and clattering with my endless day. And he cuddled up to me and I felt suffocated. He crossed his legs over mine and I pushed him away. He tossed and turned and kicked. I woke to my back aching, his body across the bed once again. His foot in my kidney. I fell asleep again only to wake again and again. The sun peeking through the curtain an unwelcome guest.

I can’t fucking do this.

I can’t fucking do this.

And

And

And

I am going to keep going.

It might sound like insanity. I get it. Unless you live with a child whose brain is a stranger to you, it can be hard to understand. I understand all of the arguments against what we do. But the lived reality of it means they vanish in the night - not possible for us anyway.

If we don’t do this, I am up repeatedly all night and so is the rest of the family. Before we surrendered to him and me in one bed all night - well, we had screaming all night. Things were broken - stuff (easier), hearts (harder).

It isn’t his fault.

And

And

It’s so hard.

It isn’t my fault.

And

And

It’s so hard.

It isn’t anyone’s fault and it is so hard. It isn’t how I imagined parenting would be and it is what parenting is for me. I feel jealous of other parents and I wouldn’t change what I have. I can’t do this anymore and I know I can keep going.

I don’t know how to do this and I can do this.

The power of and. It continues to help me in my parenting. “Why us” turned a long time ago into “why not us?” I have met amazing parents and incredible kids who fight harder battles than we do. The sweet taste of gratitude like honey is at my lips every time I start to feel like we have it too hard. It is hard. And it’s not always hard.

If you are me and I am you, I can only tell you what got me through the past week, the past few months, the past few years…

The and got me through. And another thing too -

Every time you hold them, every time you kiss them, every time you help them to sleep, to cope, to continue, every time you love them….You’re holding them, kissing them, helping them, loving them into the future.

I see his little moon face and I see him at eight, nine, ten, 13, 16, 18, 21, 28, 32, 38….

When he is navigating friendships, relationships…when he is working, when he is going into this world with his beautiful and complex brain…

I am there.

I say to him through my actions: I loved you into existence. In me you will see how much I believe in you. How much I adore you. How much I know you have the strength to find the best ways to help you cope in this world exactly as you are.

We have time my baby. We have all the time in the world.

And

We’re going to be alright. Now, then, soon, forever.

x