5am and the Moses Baskets are rocking
It was 5am and I was outnumbered. Kim Jong-Il and Catherine the Great were lying there flexing their vocal cords and warming up their lungs at me. I could feel a “laughter line” beginning to burrow in from my temples and a black hair was turning grey as I rocked, cooed and shushed.
This shouldn’t be happening. This is wrong. It’s too early. They’re an hour ahead of schedule. They should be milk drunk dreamy… And then it hit me. As the noise built, the tension climbed and any chance of a wee went out of the window, they couldn’t tell the time.
I realised that for the foreseeable future my early weekend mornings bore semblance to the nightshift in the Big Brother House. I sit watching incontinent celebrities sleep. My Didsbury Juniors are unaware of the needs of those around them, they are up early but cry for attention, drink lots and can’t eat solids – at 5 weeks old they already know what it is to be in Hollyoaks.
There is something bizarrely magical about this. I follow a day sharing creative joy with the next generation of wannabee media storytellers to perch next to two Moses baskets full of beautiful despots. Whilst half of my mind craves rest, the other half absorbs and enjoys every gurgle, shnurgle, grunt and trump.
Didsbury Son is fast asleep next door. He has not yet lost that deep sleep childhood capability to
sleep through earthquakes. Didsbury Wife is out cold after a 22 hour nurture and I am here.
There is a beautiful horizontal sliver of moon smiling from a clear November sky. I can hear the odd late night taxi bringing home another former life and I sit here – rocking, mushy headed, dry mouthed and out of focus surrounded by senseless babbling. I haven’t spent £100, had to queue for a £10 drink and … Could really do a big night out