Thirteen

Awake. Both arms out of the swaddle. Muttering to himself.

Bloggers block. What to write about..

It's been a quiet week resulting in a quiet brain. Focusing on day sleeps transitioning the little master out of his swaddle. Fun times. Not.

Last week it was his right arm out. Regular sleep and resettling on his own achieved with great success.

Yesterday, full of confidence, both arms came out. 'He'll be in his sleeping bag in no time,' I ranted to my dear husband.

Morning sleep was perfect. Happy as, barely a whimper, asleep within ten minutes.

Lunchtime sleep. Bloody nightmare.

I won't mention how long he whinged for. Let's just say for the first time in weeks and weeks I found myself pacing up and down the hallway pulling hair out by the fist full wondering if it was too early for a drink, chanting 'short term pain, long term gain!'

After err.. 'some time', we waved the white flag and abandoned ship. Put the little master back with the one arm out for some well needed rest - for both of us.

He woke after one sleep cycle, happy as Larry (who the heck is Larry by the way?!), fed, changed then off for a late..quite late lunch down by the water.

Some much needed fresh air, laughs and giggles at the duckies plus a hearty chicken burger with greasy fries did the trick.

It was, of course, a decoy to avoid another sleep at home. So the afternoon nap was had in the pram whilst I contemplated how cold the ocean was that day.

Kidding...as I said it was all magically fixed with a chicken burger. Burpety burp.

On the upside, it is day two with both arms out and the little master is asleep. Morning was perfect and lunchtime (current) not far behind.

Better well stay that way because not only do I have bald patches on my head, there's not a chicken burger in sight!

Asleep. With both arms out. Joy.