Look, universe, this is getting TEDIOUS, yes?

Oh, look, here I am again, being BORING about SLEEP. I'm so sorry. Perhaps one day I'll have something new to whine about. Won't that be nice?

In the meantime, boring boring boring boring boring.

In fact, I might almost go so far as to say, YAWN. (See what I did there?)

But it kind of helps to write it out. So here we all are.

Look, universe, am I not allowed to have a good day without paying for it, or something? It really felt, yesterday, as if I'd come through a hard patch and things were going to improve. I got stuff done! The children went to bed at a reasonable hour! For the first time in I don't know how long, I had normality, or some semblance thereof, in my sweaty paws.

I went to bed just after 11, and I read for a while, then settled down to sleep and found it hard on account of the whirlybrain (but that's common enough), and then niallm came to bed and we chatted for a bit, and some time after 1:00 I went to sleep.

1:50, the Feaster arrives in our bed wanting milk. I notice that he smells a bit, but decide that it's not something I'm prepared to investigate further. Probably just gas, I tell myself. He feeds for a while, and we doze off.

Some time before 4:00, the Feaster wakes up again and commences his infernally irritating switching-sides drill. To ensure that Niall, at least, gets some sleep, I bring the Feaster back to his bed.

That smell's pretty bad, actually. By the light of my iPhone I confirm that he has pooed. (This is extremely unusual - normally he only poos in the daytime now. I think it's the tail end of his upset tummy, working its way through.)

Grossly, I actually wait to see if he'll go back to sleep first, before submitting to my fate and bringing him downstairs for a change.

I'm drawing a veil of decorum over the ensuing scene. Let's just say that this was one of the truly GREAT nappies. When the mighty excretory epics come to be written, this nappy will take its rightful place in the firmament of nappies. Its olfactory nuances alone will require cantos and cantos to explore. Its exquisite textural intricacy and subtle gradations of colour will inspire flights of literary virtuosity that are nothing short of breathtaking. Aging warriors with rheumy eyes and crooked backs, sitting by sunny walls with their preprandial snifters, will gaze into the distance and remind each other past glories - "Ah," they will say, "this was a nappy!"

So I deal with that. And then we go back to bed.

Of course, the Feaster is thoroughly awake by now. Argumentative, wriggly, rapacious. Also, for various reasons, I have a major desire not to fall asleep next to him. I want to put him back to sleep and spend the rest of the night in my own effing bed, kthxbai.

5:00 comes and goes. I read blogs on my iPhone ("feed reader", ahahaha). The Feaster switches sides, kicks me, sits up and converses. I think I probably couldn't have slept anyway, even if that were what I was trying to do. I watch in numb disbelief as 6:00 comes and goes.

The Oyster gets up at 6:08 and goes downstairs to play.

Eventually, at about 6:25, the Feaster falls asleep. I go back to my bed, a broken woman.

Next thing I know it's 9:00, and the Feaster wants me again. Niall brings him downstairs and distracts him with, I don't know, rum or crack or something. (Do I care? I do not.)

But Niall is on call today, and he gets paged at 9:25, so I have to get up.

Which was ... challenging.

So universe, cut it out, OK? Stop it! Cease and desist! You've made your point, whatever it is. Now, GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK.

Message ends.