Since my last writing and my resolve to transform my evening/night-time routine, I've continued to fall into a deep sleep around 7pm. I blame the clocks. Since their going back last Saturday night, I've been waking up around 4am, which my body thinks is 5am and thus a timely hour to wake up. This is not an optimum situation when it comes to any kind of routine. The astonishing thing is that I can actually be up for two extra hours in the morning and get less done that usual.
Grace woke up in the night (because that's how I see 4am), crying out something to do with her duvet. I hoped she'd drift back off, but she didn't. So I went in and corrected it for her. It just involved a slight tweek. But that was it for me. Could I get back to sleep? No. My mind was alert, and ready to go. So I read my Kindle and finally got up around 6am. However, I have achieved less than usual. The dishes lie on the draining board, un-dried and un-put away. The dinner has yet to be prepped. No floors have been hoovered and nothing has been dusted. We haven't even eaten lunch.
I'm not sure what happens, but the clocks going back has wreaked havoc in our little lives. Everyone is more tired, more grumpy and achieving less than ever.
Come on, farmers of Britain... do we really need to keep putting our clocks back? I suppose the answer is probably 'yes'. Everything has just felt so... topsy turvy since last Saturday. This falling asleep around 7pm business (like last night) leads to so many jobs being left undone and such a weird feeling (not unlike when you have a newborn) of twilight zone in the mornings. It also means not a millisecond to myself.
The evening is usually a time when I can snatch an hour or two to do inane things (recently, Youtube-watching) and just be on my own. I don't count sleep as solitude, so the alone time has gone. I grabbed some at the weekend when Michael was around (enough of a slot to go to John Lewis and find a lovely leather handbag - thank you mum and dad for such a thoughtful early birthday present). But there's something about the benefit of breaks when they are little and often. Like the little sacred 45 minutes or so when your toddler/baby/spouse is asleep in the daytime and you are all alone with your guitar/laptop/chocolate. These 'top you up' no end and keep insanity from the door - or just about.
Speaking of sanity, I've been thinking about writing a little series called 'Reflections on a Newborn'. Enough time has passed for me to be able to write, with some clarity, about what it was really like after I first had Grace and then Isaac. There were a lot of differences, but some common strands. I think it could be helpful for someone contemplating their first/second baby. It also seems quite fitting to be writing about it a year on from Isaac's birth. It always does take me a while to get around to doing anything...