"I feel like we're sleeping on free samples" says JC as he attempts to come back to bed for the fifth time after having been up since 4.45am with the little one. I laugh and imagine fifteen minute sleep sachets attached to the pages of Marie Claire magazine.
We take it in turns to get out of bed to provide toast, milk, cartoons, wipe bottoms, and negotiate fights.
Between 6.30am and 7.30am we manage to sleep; the girls have all they need in the sitting room to occupy themselves for an hour.
I dream that the little one is calling my name but manage to change the scene and push the noise out of my head.
Of course I am woken to find her at the end of my bed;
"Mummy, mummy Amaya's done a poo. I want more strawberries."
JC springs up from bed to search for the rogue poo.
"Where has she done a poo?" he asks the little one, who's following him shouting "You're a poo daddy."
They discover Amaya on the toilet.
"Wipe my bum mummy" she calls, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her father is standing directly in front of her.
"But mummy's sleeping. I'm here, let me do it"
"Noooo, I want mummy"
I fall out of bed and into the toilet where I skilfully attend to the big one's, ahem, big one. Once completed I walk back towards my bedroom but am tackled en route by the little one.
"Mummy nooooooooo, don't go to sleep. Come into sitting room I want Peppa Pig and strawberries". I huff really loudly so it comes out as a growl, and mutter profanities under my morning breath.
Once strawberries and Peppa Pig have been provided and both girls are on sofa, cozied up under their duvet I let it out;
"Right girls, we need to talk. I'm being serious here, you have to stop waking up so early, honestly, we need to work something out. What can we do? When it's light outside you go back to sleep, no I mean when it's dark outside you go back to sleep. Understand? You turn over in your comfy beds and fall back to sleep. OK? Look at you, you're both exhausted." I point at the big one "You've got bags under your eyes, you're pale and tired and you're still sick from yesterday, you need rest. And you," I point at the little one "Look at your bags, you're tired too and why do you think you've been crying all morning, it's because you're TIRED. Really, it's the weekend and I need to sleep so I can have a nice, happy day. Quite frankly it's selfish. I mean it. Really I do. So please can you both just work it out?"
Blank stares.
I get back into my bed for one final attempt;
"Nice speech" says JC.
"They think I'm mental" I say.
