Mr Sandman, give me a break

"Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream" goes the song.

Right now I'd like to switch it up a bit so it goes a little something like this:

"Mr Sandman, please don't stop by (dum dum dum dum)
Each time you come here, it hurts my eyes (dum dum dum dum)
All I want to do is sleeee-eeeep
Mr Sandman don't be a creep"

So the last line needs a bit of work, but you get the picture.

My partner and I have been blessed with a beautiful, bright and very, very active baby girl. She's nine months old (going on nineteen), and I love being her mother (almost) all the time.

But lately I've been feeling less than glowingly happy in the middle of the night. OK, let's be honest: and first thing in the morning, and mid-day, and every time she refuses to eat, and has a mini tantrum, and and and... I feel like I'm going to burst from exhaustion. Although I suppose I would be more likely to implode. Or crumble.

All I want to do is go to sleep. For 48 hours straight. Ideally in a different country. If I could, I'd contract out my requirement to go to the bathroom just to avoid getting out of bed.

If I add the number of nights that she's been in our lives to the nights of interrupted sleep while awaiting her arrival, I haven't had a full night's sleep in almost a year. No wonder mornings find me feeling like the sandman has been by -- not to bring me a dream -- to deposit some of his granular cargo in my occipital region. Ugh.

While I waited for C's arrival, I read books about how to be a yummy mummy, how not to lose yourself, how to feel attractive and other 'useful' tips. While very exciting and confidence-inspiring (I would, of course, never let myself go), they were a little laughable.

These days I'm happy if I can get through a night without nursing her more than twice, and am over the moon if we get to sleep in until eight (I should qualify by explaining that I would need to nurse at six a.m. to hit the dream sleep in time of eight).

And never mind how glamorous I manage to be (ahem) or how enlightened and varied my conversation has become. I think it's probably for the best that we aren't attending many parties these days that don't involve infants. I wouldn't be the most scintillating guest.

That said, the 'parties' we do attend, complete with nappy changes and feeding circles and vomit galore, are much more essential to my survival than any I've attended in the past. If it weren't for the other mothers I've met since C's arrival, I think I'd have gone mad.

So thank you to Monica, Cliodhna, Charlie, Rebecca and Rebecka, Kate and all the other mothers who offer comfort and tote equally impressive bags under their eyes. And to their delightful babies who make me realise that everything mine does is more or less normal. You're my yardsticks and comforts and companions in exhaustion. I say we form a gang and go after the Sandman. He must be stopped. We can plan it right after we get a good night's sleep.