Minor crisis in Dadville: Jasper’s sleep patterns have changed again. The good news is, the little man is sleeping more; the bad news is, I’m sleeping much less.

Despite our best efforts to keep him awake (many of which are probably outlawed under the Geneva convention), Jasper falls into a near coma between seven and nine at night.

Having shelled out on an air conditioner after the three of us almost melted a fortnight ago, there is no way I’m going to buy a TiVo, so our prime time habit has to get its fix during, well, prime time.

So our son snoozes through Hell’s Kitchen, Holmes on Homes and CSI, and by the time we’re ready to crash he’s kicking his legs, yelling out his lungs and screwing up his face, demanding food, right now. (So not all that different from Gordon Ramsey.)

Once he’s fed and back in bed, we are turning on the nightlight about 12.30am. Carolina takes the first feed around 3am. I am left to take care of Jasper when he gets up again, around 5am.

So far, so good. But for some reason (most likely boredom), once fed the second time, JD wakes up every hour or so, determined for some entertainment from the slobbering, bewhiskered wreck that looks a bit like Daddy, only oddly fuzzy and unco-ordinated. We can communicate in the middle of the night in baby talk without any special effort from me.

What most of our neighbours have long suspected – that we’re the po’ white trash of the block, masquerading as educated thirtysomethings – has been confirmed.

Our lawnmower sent us a dentist-style ‘Hi! I’m missing your company and hope to see you real soon’ postcard. The flood-damaged carpet and assorted possessions cover our driveway, awaiting the insurance adjuster. Weeds outnumber flowers and grass.

But you know what? The yard is one thing not contributing to my insomnia… Sleep well.

Return to the Jasper's Dad archive menu