Sleep

Betty has decided that 1.45am-6.30am is playtime. And cry time.  And burp time. And dinnertime. In the day, she is now feeding every three hours for half an hour. At night; every hour for 45 minutes. That’s 15 minutes sleep every hour for 5 hours. 

Now our family like their scran. We’re not shy when it comes to a spread or buffet. We feel no shame or sense of proportion when eating socially, consuming with focus, drive and vigour, oblivious to the notions of inhibition, sharing or moderation. Calling a spade a spade: an out and out bloody greed bunch.
I myself, after a substantial evening meal, often graze idly on toast, biscuits, yoghurts, crisps. Never massively hungry, never COMPLETELY full. Sheer gluttony. It was inevitable Betty would succumb to the ambitious appetite her DNA has bestowed upon her. 
Hello. My name is Cathey…I am a compulsive over-eater…and I can sympathise with the plight of my daughter.

However, despite a family tree awash with avid, ravenous, craving, self-indulgent passions for all things edible; there is an unspoken hereditary truth which my daughter has not grasped. A decree of effortless wisdom, from which no right-minded relative has ever deviated. A simple yet steadfast edict to which my whole belly-led family adhere.

FOOD DOES NOT INTERRUPT SLEEP. EVER. UNLESS YOU ARE DRASTICALLY ILL.

My daughter is cute, beautiful, funny, precious, treasured and cherished. She is NOT ill.

Bed time IS bed time.
Clearly, the years may not be kind. I fear I will come to face some fierce uphill battles with this jumped up little revolutionary.