jet lagged kids Archives - Circles in the SandCircles in the Sand

Last night, BB couldn’t sleep, again. And by couldn’t sleep, I mean he was wide awake, like an insomniac who hasn’t slept properly for years, or a coffee addict who’s been injecting caffeine intravenously.

His eyes would flutter shut for half-a-second, then spring open again. Every time I thought he’d drifted off, it was such a feather-light sleep that he’d awaken the moment I moved a finger. Eventually, his eyelids stopped looking heavy and remained wide open, as though propped apart by matchsticks.

I gave up and let him come downstairs. We’re fighting jet lag, after all, and the time shift means we’re trying to get the boys to sleep before their bodies think it’s bedtime (kind of like trying to turn the tide).

This was about 10pm.

“I’ll fall asleep in front of the TV mummy,” he promised, with a smile.

At 2am, we were still downstairs.

I know, I was gullible. I should have known the TV would just be bonus stimulation time for him, but I couldn’t let him start making a racket upstairs as LB and DH were already sleeping.

When you’re blimin’ knackered and the kids won’t sleep, this book cover does spring to mind

DH had gone to bed at about 7.30pm, as from 1.30am he was on stand-by. He doesn’t have to be awake to be on night-time stand-by – it just means he has to be rested enough to be able to fly, if needed – with the phone by the bed obviously.

I must admit, when he cheerily called it a day at 7.30pm, there was a bit of me that thought, “Hmpph, they won’t call him. He’ll get the best night’s sleep, ever.”

But, I was wrong. At 2am, he got sent to China.

As his suitcase clunked down the stairs, I looked at DH with surprise – and he, in return, looked at BB with surprise.

“He can’t sleep,” I sighed, our tired, ashen faces lit up by the glow coming from Disney Junior on the TV.

With three out of four of us up, we saw DH off, then I took BB upstairs and told him he could sleep in the big bed (mistake no. 2).

Five minutes later, there were three in the bed. LB was up too and they were fighting for pole position next to me.

“Go to sleep, both of you,” I growled. “It’s nearly 3. Mummy needs to sleep, now.”

Miraculously, they did fall asleep before too long – and I crept stealthily out of the room and straight into BB’s empty bed.

Oh the joys of musical beds at 3am! It’ll be melatonin jet-lag tablets all round tonight.

I’ve never been one for keeping a really strict routine. When the children were babies, the Gina Ford-esque Open the curtains at 6.24am regime didn’t suit me. But, like all mums, I’m well aware that if certain things happen at the same time each day, then life is a lot more enjoyable.

Bedtime is a case in point.

At no time is a routine more appealing than when it’s all going pear-shaped: I’m talking about jet lag here – that dreaded circadian rhythm sleep disorder that can hold you in its steely, fatigue-inducing grip for days, especially after an eastbound flight.

With her jet-lagged children up for hours in the night, Mom felt like she’d been run over by the airport bus

It’s a disorientating condition that people in our community know well, especially the Americans and Canadians who travel half way round the world to get back, with small children, who then spend the next two weeks mixing up night and day.

We only had a three-hour time jump between London and Dubai, but to be honest, even this is enough to play havoc with your family’s sleep.

Making it worse this year was the fact that BB and LB hadn’t really adjusted to British time anyway. After returning from America, and with no school to get up for, they stayed on a mid-Atlantic time zone, treating us to 11pm bedtimes in England.

No surprises, then, that our first full night back in Dubai went like this:

11.30pm: BB and LB finally succumb to sleep

2.20am: I nod off at last

2.30am: Pitter, patter … BB comes running in. “Mum, I can’t sleep!”

5.30am: BB, who I [foolishly] allowed to climb into our bed, falls back to sleep after three hours of fidgeting

6.15am: LB wakes up – for the day

Tonight (yawn), my overtired boys were also resisting bedtime, in a can’t sleep/won’t sleep fashion.

“I’m NOT tired!”

Then, just before nine, BB lost it, despite being allowed to watch some extra telly. “I want Nanny,” he wailed, in between distraught, heart-breaking sobs.

“But you’ve got me,” I soothed, feeling a bit like the booby prize.

I took him and his brother upstairs and tried reading a book, but it didn’t really distract my by-now-exhausted BB.

More raspy, uneven sobs.

So, I pulled out all the stops: I started singing.

“Show me the way to go home. I’m tired and I want to go to bed,” I crooned, trying to replicate a song my mum used to sing to me while drying my tears years ago.

BB went quiet, finally, and his breathing slowed as the song worked its magic. But then LB, who until now had been quite placid, started crying.

“Mum, don’t sing,” he spluttered, visibly shaken. “I really don’t like your singing. “It’s bad singing,” he snivelled, and sat up in bed, wide awake again.

There really is no pleasing everyone, is there?