Susan Morrison: Only teenagers sleep like babies

Real babies are not known for their ability to doze. Picture: Getty
Real babies are not known for their ability to doze. Picture: Getty
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My friends are the proud parents of a new baby boy. He is, of course, the most gorgeous baby on the planet. Why, the child is a veritable prodigy and is bound to sweep up an Oscar statuette, a Noble prize and an Emmy award all before his fifth birthday.

The one thing he won’t lift is Commonwealth gold for Scotland in the sleeping stakes. The little bundle of joy is so enamoured of the bright new world around him, he never shuts those baby blues of his.

Mum and dad have almost forgotten what a full night’s sleep is.

I guess it’s no comfort really, but things do improve. Unfortunately, they’ll have to wait until he’s at least 13. When boys get to the teen years, they take up sleeping with the sort of dedication that Donald Trump displays for buying bits of Scotland. If that man keeps this shopping spree up then it’s not a Yes vote we’ll be looking for soon, but a receipt.

My son could sleep through a Harrier Jump Jet lifting off beside the bed. I suspect he inherited that particular superpower from his dad.

I remember my husband in the first flush of daddyhood telling me he’d do the night feed. I lay there and listened to both babies cry for about 30 seconds before I gave in and got on with it myself. Seriously, you could smack that man about the head with a tin tea tray and he wouldn’t so much as interrupt a particularly knotty snore.

Boys seem to develop the ability to not so much sleep as go into a sort of suspended animation. Most parents of boys who are in that 13-19 age bracket will be familiar with the morning ritual that sees parental impatience escalate to DefCon 2 during the get up and go hours. It starts with the cheery good morning, usually at the bedroom door. There’s usually a noise from the depths. Sounds a bit like a disgruntled walrus. It means the call to greet the day has been received and is being acknowledged. We return to the mug of coffee waiting downstairs. Nothing happens. So that means going to the foot of the stairs and shouting.

Another howl from above, but we know, oh how we know, that eventually we are going to have to go up there and breach the defences to find the lovely lad face down with the cat on his head and one foot sticking out of the duvet. It’s like he’s trying to get up in stages. Very small stages.

No wonder the army uses bugles to wake them up.

Dolly is the stuff of nightmares

BEING awake after midnight has more to keep you entertained now than when my daughter was a baby.

On the telly 23 years ago, there was practically nothing beyond strange bearded men in front of blackboards doing sums for the Open University and a programme which claimed to come “live from the Grand Ol’ Opry in Nashville”. Even I could see it wasn’t live, but I really didn’t have the energy to write to complain. It was good ol’ country music of the most nasal kind.

Late-night exposure to sequinned women with improbably bouffant hairdos, and blokes who dressed like extras for a Western B movie did not leave me with a love of songs about men standing in phone booths calling a woman who doesn’t want to speak to them, or women who are being cheated on by men who are in phone booths calling other women. It did, however, give me some bizarre nightmares about Dolly Parton in my wardrobe singing Jolene.

I know they claim that Country and Western is a gift Scotland gave to the Americans, but I remember thinking what had the Americans done to offend us?

Tram bell might wake the lad . .

They are moving. The trams. I’ve seen them.

There is something sinister about the way they’ve taken to gliding about the city in that silent, provocative way.

We are not allowed to board. Not yet.

We are being teased. And startled, since they have taken to making a rather charming hooting noise as they round the corner at St Andrew Square, causing pedestrians to leap like startled gazelles.

Handy thing for waking a teen lad, that.

Business is guaranteed for new Leith shop

THE old Pram centre on Great Junction Street has been the subject of a makeover of late – and, of course, intense local speculation.

Who’s moving in? Well, a few days ago we got our answer.

It’s a new shiny funeral directors. Oh yes, from the cradle to the grave, in one move.