The jet lag dance

Last night it took me no less than TWELVE attempts to get Oscar to sleep by Hong Kong bedtime, by which time we were back to French time anyway.

The first five attempts went as usual, with me walking around the flat wondering how long it would take my shattered arms to let go of the 7kg baby blowing raspberries in them.

By the sixth attempt, it was 2am and I was so desperate I broke my own rule and tried putting him in front of the TV (anyone who knows me will know what a huge compromise this was for me). Turns out I had no addiction to be worried of - Bambino was not interested one bit in the TV, and if anything, the flashing lights woke him up more than turning him into a square-eyed zombie.

On the seventh attempt, at 3am, I broke out the big guns - the musical mobile that had never yet been used as it was being saved for just such a desperate occasion.

As I wound it up over Oscar's head, he gave me his best look of incredulity, as if to ask me if I was stupid enough to really think this was going to work. Indeed it didn't, but then again the music had run out by the time he was quiet enough to hear it, so I went in for a quick rewind interlude while the baby stamped his feet, covering his ears with his hands and wailing something I could swear sounded like "Shut that bloody bazooki up!"

I sat next door as I listened to him trying new tactics, attempting to reason with it by blowing raspberries. To no avail.

On the second wind up he was trying to roll over, as if wanting to escape while letting out a slow sigh. He looked at the mobile as if to say "look old chap, you're wasting you're breath" and by the third wind he was blowing the raspberries at me, trying to tell me "that was rubbish".

By the fourth wind up I gave in, picked him up and used my tried and tested method of walking around again. Finally he drifted off, and so did I, seconds after crawling into bed.

And...? You guessed it, one hour later I was up pacing the room again, singing the 250 verses of "mon papa ne veut pas" until my tongue was like a shrivelled old flannel.

And just when I thought my ordeal was over, typhoon Fanapi went and knocked over a load of furniture on the roof, waking us both up with a start.

My Mamie Jacqueline says that sleep nourishes the mind the way that food nourishes the body. Well, if Bambino doesn't start accepting to go to sleep when he needs to, we might soon have a little Oscar Gump on our hands. And considering how much he loves being on his feet nowadays, I wouldn't be surprised if he just got up tomorrow and started to run around the world talking about how life is like a box of chocolates...