Tonight I had a small epiphany, when my wife told me to fill up our daughter’s bottle with milk and put it in the fridge. All this week I’ve stumbled in the early hours to the fridge to fetch the bottle, in order to placate our howling child, and never once did it occur to me how there was always a full bottle of milk waiting there for me to give her.
Then again, if my wife hadn’t prepared that the night before every night, I would have wasted countless hours and pints of milk trying to make up a bottle while still three-quarters asleep. Even tonight, when I was basically awake, I screwed up screwing the top on the bottle and slopped milk over the table. But at least I’m now capable of preparing for calming The Beast at five a.m.
There’s no list on the door yet though, not even a flowchart for me to see whether I should be picking up the child and putting it in bed with us, or tenderly explaining why she can’t get out of her cot and run around at three in the morning. I function better with lists, with explicit instructions. I’m not alone in this. The military paints "This end towards the enemy" on bazookas so that sleep-deprived soldiers don’t fire rockets in the opposite direction by mistake. I’m not comparing my child to the enemy, but she’s been battering at my sleep quality for weeks now.
However, on Sunday I go to Tokyo. I have a 6:55 departure which means I need to catch a taxi around 4:30, which should fit in well with La Serpiente Aquatica Negra hollering for attention. We can almost guarantee that Sunday morning will be the one time she doesn’t function as a makeshift alarm. You can’t deny her sense of humour.
Anyway, so to bed…