Mum’s talk... by Sarah Reid
There is a photographic joke that has done the rounds of social media over the last few years. A young woman lies sleeping serenely with her adorable baby by her side, his little arm stretched above his head on the pristine white pillow. Above the picture is the word ‘EXPECTATION’. Then underneath, with the heading ‘REALITY’ there is a hapless mum teetering on the edge of her own bed while her sprawling toddler sleeps across it, blithely oblivious that his foot is mashing her in the face.
It’s a picture that makes me laugh out loud every time I see it. Like so much humour, it’s funny because it’s true. There aren’t many ideas more appealing than having your cherished and sweet-smelling infant snoring and snuffl ing beside you. Whether it’s because they’ve had a bad dream, aren’t feeling well, or just can’t sleep, inviting them in beside you always seems like a good idea at the time (normally about 1am…)
really??
After all, if it will help them get some much- needed sleep there can’t be any harm in it, can there? Cut to three hours later though, and the harm is self-evident. Your ability to sleep is being harmed – severely. While the sweet-smelling one nodded off within 45 seconds of securing his or her place in The Big Bed, you’ve been gradually edged to the margins so they can pivot repeatedly on their axis, their head against you one minute, their feet the next.
Three hours later is when you also remember that, rather than snoring and snuffl ing, you’re more likely to be suddenly terrifi ed by a random blood-curdling screech, dispatched without the child ever waking to off er an explanation.
All this time, while you’re being forced to inhale fl uff y (but, granted, sweet-smelling) hair half the night then struggling with a big toe in your eye for the other half, you wouldn’t dream of making the slightest noise or trying to nudge them into a position that would make life just that tiny bit more comfortable. Because that would just defeat the purpose.
So what I can’t understand is why these memories
are strangely wiped after you
wake from two hours’ snatched sleep with a crick in your neck. The next time there’s a pint-sized nocturnal plea, it’s probable that it’ll be welcomed indulgently with you fondly imagining yourself as the mum in that picture on the internet.
It’s only three hours later that you remember there were two mums in that picture...
You can follow Sarah on Twitter @sarahereid7
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