I remember when I was pregnant with my first child, my husband and I were snuggled up on the couch together rubbing my baby-filled belly while eating a tub of Sara Lee Cookies & Cream ice cream. We were watching the movie Nine Months and naively believed we were heading for years of parental bliss.
At the end of the movie the main characters wake in the night to their crying baby, they happily climb out of bed and then proceed to dance together with the cooing baby around their tidy and cosy living room with the twinkling city skyline as a backdrop.
I looked at my husband and he looked at me and we smiled that serene, we-really-have-no-idea smile at each other before clicking off the TV and retreating to bed for a blissful night’s sleep.
Fast forward three years and there was another baby in my belly. My back ached, my pelvis felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing me with a screwdriver every time I moved, I was bone-tired and that original baby in my belly was standing at the side of my bed at 5am prying my eyes open and demanding “warm weety bix peese, Mummy, NOW”.
In that precise moment I saw sleep pack its bag and storm out the front door declaring it was running away and never coming back.
If this sounds all to familiar for you too - I'm sorry. No I truly am!