Dear Bhanshee Bhaji Nightshift,
As your maternal unit I love you, really I do.
I also love that YOU love ME, albeit to the point that I am finding it hard to find time to urinate unless I want to do it one handed (and have you ever tried getting your knickers down and up one handed, Bhaji? They get all bunched, love) and that strangers can never get you to meet their gaze when they pick you up because you’re too busy fixating on my spiky-haired self. I guess the glasses make me an easy target.
I get that you adore my b00bs. I’ve made my peace with that.
But, here’s the thing.
Sweet as it is to have you nuzzling into me between the hours of one am and daylight, you just can’t use my poor b00bies as pillows. Neither is it particularly okay to lie next to my knackered self in bed all night only interrupting your happy snoring sleep of the b00by-pillowed-replete to use my poor self as some kind of all-night nocturnal milk bar.
There’s love and there’s insane sleep deprivation, lovvie, and it’s a bit odd to be half woken up by somebody sucking on your n1pple all the time. The dreams are dead strange for a start and there was that time you gave me a bit of a mis-aimed in-the-dark b00by hickey that actually hurt quite a bit, you know.
Basically, Bhaji, I am glad that last night you returned to your usual sweet, settled sleeping self and spent a blessed six hours in your cot because, honestly, the previous four nights were seriously Not Cool. At least from my perspective.
So why did you go and spoil it by choosing just before six am to leave me a noisy number three in your nappy, up your pyjama back, in your swaddle and, only discovered later to my horror, ON MY SHEETS?
Love,
Your Mama.
