We very nearly achieved the ultimate in baby sleeping this morning, the gold standard, the dream all us mothers of poor nappers seek – the self soothe. E went down in his cot, yawned and rolled over as I waited for the start of the familiar grumble which builds to a wailing crescendo.
But there was silence. I backed out of the room barely breathing expecting to be called back and … Nothing. A couple of minutes later I congratulated myself on a job well done (I hadn’t actually done anything different, but I’ll take these victories where I can).
And then there was the loudest of poo explosions.
I’ll admit, I did think twice about going in. E was silent and almost asleep, but the sound and the smell was a pretty good indication that this was the big one. So reluctantly, very reluctantly, I picked him up and changed his nappy.
To his credit, E made all the right noises and rubbed his eyes suggesting that the return to the cot would see a repeat of the self soothe miracle. But, I’d been lulled into a false sense of security by my wiley five month old.
Crying ensued as soon as his little body sensed the mattress and I resumed my usual position of rocking while mentally giving myself a telling off for resorting yet again to sleep props. Ah well, there’s always the next nap…