As I lay me down to sleep
I pray that I won’t hear a peep
Up and down, five miles I’ve trod
To get this boy to the land of nod
I’ve tried every method known to man
Googled ‘sleep’ (and ‘diazepam’)
Gina Ford says let him cry
I cannot do it, who knows why?
Another said “Don’t leave him crying
Pick up to soothe then back to lying.
‘Pick up, Put Down’ as long as it takes.”
It was 50 times for goodness sakes!
I laid beside him in his cot
But a twisted spine was all I got.
He didn’t even give a damn
When I pushed him in the sodding pram
So now I walk and rock and hum
And pray that sleep will surely come
Hold my breath as his eyelids flutter
(“Just bloody sleep.” I’m heard to mutter.)
And when I think he starts to slumber
I count to 100, or some such number
Because he’s been known to wake and screech
As soon as his backside hits the sheet
But when I’m sure he’s sleeping deep
I pull out my arm that’s gone to sleep
Risk a kiss and a last caress . . .
. . . then creep away like I’m SAS
So, please let him sleep right through tonight
Six hours together would see me right.
And if that’s too long for him to make
I pray that Daddy’s the one he wakes.