Over the last few days, we’ve interrupted Harry’s routine. The result? Almost disaster, I’ll tell you what.
Before Harry arrived, the one thing that I promised Wayne we’d do, would be to ensure that our baby a) had a bed time routine and b) knew that he or she would have to stick to it (by and large I mean by this, I’m not some sort of Nazi after all). Anyway, Harry’s always had a routine and has always, barring from a few exceptions such as teething, stuck to it. Sometimes he’s even been known to take himself off up to bed ahead of his usual time.
So as I say, the last few days for one reason or another, he’s gone to bed in excess of his bedtime by about an hour. Well Holy Mother of God has this affected him, has it.
The night before last, the Christmas tree went up and we didn’t feel it’d be fair to send Harry to bed until we’d finished – he did have to pop the fairy on top after all. After a little fuss, Harry went to bed, but it wasn’t without some persuasion and bribery shall we say.
Last night his beloved Aunty Jo and Uncle Ross paid a visit – I wish they hadn’t to be honest. I love seeing them, I love them as individuals, I do, I do, I do, but god, they caused havoc (I mean that in a nice way Jo & Ross if you read this). At the mention of Uncle Ross coming over, Harry undertook laps around the house, giving any long distance runner a run (excuse the pun) for their money. Was Harry excited they were coming to visit? Oh just a tad.
Laughter, tickles and lots of shrieking followed and by the time they left, a few hours later, Harry was revved up like a 90s teen off their face on Speed at a rave. Ace.
Two attempts at settling Harry to bed, were an absolute failure to say the very least. “Mummy, Mummy” the arms were around my neck trying to strangle me in Harry’s attempt not to be put to bed. The second was Wayne trying to let him ‘self settle’. What a load of bollocks that is; if they don’t pass out from a sore throat at the bellowing, then you probably will from the incessant wailing emitting round your ears and banging migraine that ensues. That didn’t work either, so back downstairs he came. Another bottle of milk , Disney Cars for about the 56th time this week and a laughing Harry sat smugly in his Daddy’s arms (he’s totally learn how to play us off against one another).
Third time’s a charm right? Nope you’d be wrong there. The whole family wrapped up (we were all in pjs by this point), we loaded the car up and went for a family drive in the freezing cold. Just what you need during British wintertime.No sooner had we set off and before the warmth could kick in, finally the munchkin fell asleep….
I guess my moan or rant or point or whatever you wanna call it, is that really, don’t fuck with your kiddie winkles bed time routine. You’re basically holding yourself to ransom and ultimately you become the victim of your own success.
Tonight we’ll be back to the usual routine; tea, playtime, bath and then a story, followed by a bottle of milk whilst watching ‘In the Night Garden’ – I hate that bloody programme with a passion, but Harry finds it hilarious so as long as he’s happy, Mummy’s happy.
Tonight I will not be the victim of my own success.