I haven’t had a full night sleep now since the beginning of 2009. I’ve been a mother for 15 years so I’m used to the whole death-of-self concept.

I’ve been dead now for over a decade. I thought after having a trillion kids that at 42 I’d be such a pro at mothering that if there was ever an Olympic event I’d be a contender. But I’m more of a pushover now then I was in my twenties.

Every night we put our baby girl to sleep and one hour later she’s awake. That’s it. That’s the sum total of ‘me’ time that my precious bundle allocates. In that hour I write my Echo column, answer my emails, do paintings, and tend to the other children. It’s a pretty massive hour. 

I don’t think I’ve managed to have an uninterrupted thought in months, let alone a poo. I can’t teach my babies to sleep. I hate hearing women complain about their babies waking in the night. I’m like, waking at 3 in the morning? Half your luck, that means they’ve already slept for six straight hours! I’d be weeping with joy!

I’m a bit of a lazy hippy chick at heart. I’ll admit it, I’m a co-sleeper. The cot gets a run, but basically the baby always manages to get into bed. I think it’s genetic. My  mother confessed that she used to sleep with me. I didn’t get my own room until I was 16. Little Ivy breastfeeds from about 10pm until 6am. Non stop. She feeds so heavily she has little need of food and nutrition during the day.

I wake up feeling like one of those poppers that’s had all the juice sucked out. But I just can’t say no. She loves her night titty. And who wouldn’t? I don’t separate from my children well. I lie there listening to them breathe, and when they go quiet I poke them to make sure they’re not dead.

So today I’ve rung the sleep nazi. This woman comes to my home and for $600 she does what I should have been able to do: teach my child to sleep. I am paying her to be a sleep bitch. I am outsourcing boundaries because I can’t make them. I watch teen mums belting their kids at K-mart and think, geez, I bet they get their kids to sleep.

I might look like some giant Viking Queen but in reality I just can’t do tough love. I have never been able to do controlled crying. It always ends with me crying uncontrollably and the baby trying to console me. I can’t bear to hear the sound of the baby’s distress at the horror of being relegated to the cage bed we call the cot. Why should they be forced to sleep alone when we get to snuggle up with a partner?

And so I let the little thing curl up with her Mum and Dad. Amazingly, the tiny body, just 80cm long has the capacity to occupy at least half of the new King size bed. She has developed a Ninja-like wall-pinning technique that positions me on the mattress perimeter to enable her to stretch out and  enjoy that brand new $2000 cushioned comfort. The life force is strong in this one. Of all my children I would say this one is the most intense, the most energetic and the most inflexible. I named her after my 94 year old crotchety old Nanna, and that’s exactly what I got. An adorable tyrant made entirely of breast milk and will. And so that will must be broken. Lest her 42 year old mother goes nuts and ends up wandering the streets in her petticoat. Hang on, I already do that. Anyway, I’ve made the call so in a month from now I may be living the dream. Or at least sleeping it.