Today is the 34th day straight that Ryan has deemed it necessary to wake at an ungodly hour. To make matters worse, there seems to be no conceivable reason for it. He's not cold, hungry, going to bed too early or late; he's just awake.
I've tried to convince him it's still dark time, ergo sleeping time but he's not falling for that. I tuck him in bed with me in the vain hope that sleep is contagious, which results in nothing but him fidgeting and delivering mule-like kicks to the small of my back until my kidneys can't take it anymore and I admit defeat.
Once up I am forced play waitress by ferrying bowls of weet-bix, cups of tea and toast to His Majesty while he watches a seemingly endless episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. All before sunrise.
34 days friends and neighbours. No wonder I'm so bloody cranky all the time.
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