I don't have Madonna's phone number and, if your name is James Richard White, it's just as well. Because, for most of last night and a fair bit of this morning, I would probably have given her a call and asked her to pick our Jamie up on her way home from Malawi (even rich beggars can't be choosers). He's been a nightmare.
He woke up at around 3.15 and, not only did he decide he wouldn't sleep again until 5.30, but he thought he would also throw his longest tantrum yet.
After 90 minutes sleep, he roused once more and eventually I took him downstairs to play, to watch telly and to have breakfast. Clearly exhausted but unwilling to put his head down, he complained all the way until, at around 10, he finally decided to go to sleep for a couple of hours.
He's now up, about and in the best of form. Meanwhile, Vanessa and I are very pale and blotchy shadows of our former selves.
As my friend Jacqui - a mother of two herself - pre-warned me on Facebook yesterday, the pyjamas might have been the problem, just as they were a few months ago when we tried him in pyjamas before (we never learn - I know).
Jacqui wrote:
"Stick to babygrows and progress to sleep suits. Who cares if our kids still look like babies when they're six. Our sleep and sanity are worth it!"
And I think she was right for, remembering her words, I suggested we put him back into a sleepsuit just as dawn was breaking and it did seem to calm him down. Needless to say it'll be sleepsuits all the way from now until he's 16, never mind six.
Only one full day in and, already, this doesn't feel like any Easter holiday I've had before. But let's not be downhearted - there's plenty of time to go yet (or could that be a bad thing?)
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