So it's Murraymania, and as a bit of a tennis fanatic, I've been looking forward to this morning's Australian Open final all week. When Federer opened the match and I was in bed unable to drag myself out, you knew that something was very wrong. The reason? A gruelling game of doubles that pitched Young Daddy and I against Miss E and Mr A's heavy colds all night long. I had definitely lost the bounce in my game, after the racket they made all night (I blame sleep deprivation for bad puns).
Mr A served with a 2am wakeup, and Young Daddy returned with an early feed and a dose of Calpol. Then Miss E stepped up and delivered two swift wakeups at 3am (nappy change) and 4am (Calpol). I took over when Mr A came at us with a 4.30am wakeup and Young Daddy threw in the towel after a valiant fight. Mr A was so congested he just couldn't get himself to sleep, no matter how tired he was. I rallied, sitting next to the cot for 40 minutes, comforting him and replacing his dummy each time he lost it, but just as he was dropping off to sleep he'd be overcome by the Snot Monster and would deliver a killer volley. I ended up on the sofa with him asleep on me, while I shivered away and lost all feeling in the arm supporting Mr A. Half an hour of sleep gave Mr A the energy to come back at me with a long bout of wakefulness until Miss E closed out the match when she too woke up and Young Daddy and I conceded, gave up on the idea of sleep and began the day.