You lose, son

When Ned wakes up at (currently) his normal time of 5am in the bloody morning, the two main tasks I undertake are the following:

1) Changing him out his inevitably epically filled nappy, which involved an 80% chance I need to change his clothes, as he has usually fired his morning bowel movement out with such force it has literally blown out of his Pampers and up his back.

2) Getting him back to sleep

Does this make me a bad parent? possibly, but in my defense, getting me up at 5 makes me a tired parent, changing him out of poo saturated clothes every other day at 5 in the morning makes me an emotionally defeated, tired parent.

So, I take him downstairs, and sit him in his bumbo as I make my lunch and breakfast, he’s fascinated with food at the moment, so is generally quiet while I do this – or maybe it’s horror at having to look at his overweight father in just his boxers at 5 in the morning (I assume the emotional draining flows both ways, in this respect)

Once that is done, it’s a bit of mat time until he whines (It’s almost like the klaxon for ‘change the thing you’re doing that’s keeping me occupied) Then I try a different position – sitting, assisted standing, carrying etc.

Usually, I never get him back to sleep, as he knows that in an hour or so, mum is coming down and bringing the boob buffet, so he want’s so stay awake for that, but this morning – THIS MORNING – Someone lost the fight.

So here, ladies and gents – Is my lovely little loser:

Unlucky kiddo. Don’t mess with the best.


One thought on “You lose, son

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