Wake up, although I use that term loosely because I actually never really went to sleep. I just fed and cried in between bouts of dozing off to get my energy levels back up. Demand food as if I’ve never been fed before. Mum looks tired and dad says something that sounds like “duck’s sake”. 


Knackered. Mum says she wants to go out to one of those god awful baby classes this morning. They call them baby classes, but they’re really a social circle for parents to gossip about Love Island and how annoying their husbands are being. 

I want to spend the morning snoozing. Guess who’s going to win?


Still sleeping. Mum is hovering over me though, I can tell. 


Mum wakes me up. I’m annoyed. I drink my feed with a frown on my face to emphasise the point. 


Mum has put me on the play mat. She doesn’t realise yet but I’ve decided I hate everything today. I cry until she picks me up. Then she tries putting me in the bouncy chair. I cry. She switches on the vibrations, which usually always work, but I hate everything today, so I cry some more. 


Sleep. I insist on sleeping on mummy today. My bed is cold, smells funny and is not at all womb-like. Mummy attempts to eat her lunch with one hand while I nod off. Good thing she made a sandwich today, I don’t fancy being splashed with soup again. 


Nice dream that was making me laugh interrupted by mum dropping her mobile on my head. She’s been trying to take “cute sleepy” pictures for that Facebook again. 


Walk. I enjoy staring at strangers as if they are utterly mental while mum kindly attempts to explain  I’m a bit sleepy today. 


Coffee with another mum and baby. Mummy tells other mummy that I was a “total nightmare” last night. Other baby and I snigger. 


Home. Mummy wants to cook. I want to be held. Guess who wins?


Mummy gives up on cooking and rings daddy to tell him “it’s takeaway or nothing tonight”. 

I’m tired. I want to be held still and put down and gently rocked all at the same time. I don’t know why this is so hard to understand. 


Daddy’s home! Mummy immediately hands me over and crashes onto the sofa in an overly dramatic heap. 


Now begins the nightly battle over what mummy and daddy call “bedtime”. They seem to think I should be quiet. But I’m now really tired, and that makes me want to be loud. Louder than I’ve been all day. 


Still crying. Mum looks resigned, dad keeps looking at the door. 


Still crying. It’s making me hungry, so I claw disturbingly at my own face until mummy gets the hint and feeds me. 


Nod off for 10 minutes. Mummy tries to put me down and I wake up. How dumb does she think I am?


I must have dozed off there for a bit. It’s dark, time for the real fun to start. Now, how long are they going to hold out until they bring me into bed? My current record is two hours, I reckon I can get that down to one, one-and-a-half max. 

Let the games begin.