Never quite how you imagine it

This weekend, LittleBear, GrannyBear and I are staying in the south-west, to allow us to visit the BrotherBear and his family (largely for BrotherBear's own small boy's birthday party). And having lost all organisational skills, I failed to arrange a handy self-catering property for the weekend before they were all fully booked. So instead we're living in the lap of luxury in a Hilton hotel with a Marco Pierre White restaurant.

One of the things LittleBear was looking forward to more than anything was the chance to share a big bed with Mummy. He's done so before, usually when beset by illness or nightmares, and it's always been something I've secretly rather relished, to have my warm and lovely boy safe with me, and I didn't envisage this being any different. Oh, foolish me.

This is how I imagined we would sleep:

How Things Should Be

This is how things have been before. It seemed so simple.

Instead, we moved through a variety of permutations during the night:

Not very comfortable

Slightly more comfortable

Rather off-putting

Actually in need of rescuing

Most of those variations could be enacted either under or over the covers, which kept me on my toes. Or, more to the point, kept me fairly thoroughly awake. To my surprise (and relief) LittleBear appeared able to shift through this entertaining range of positions without waking up at all. Though by the time he did actually wake for the day at 6am, I did my best to pretend he wasn't awake until nearly 7, because I was virtually catatonic.

Perfect time to go for a run.

Having rashly committed to the ridiculous aim of running a 10km in Rochdale in September, I am now committed to running three times a week and gradually upping my distance. I knew I wouldn't have another chance this weekend, so before breakfast it was. At least I got a reprieve from pre-breakfast lego (sorry GrannyBear!) I'll say one thing for a pre-breakfast run in the rain, up hill, after a night of inadequate sleep... breakfast is absolutely AWESOME after that. Breakfast as served in a Marco Pierre White restaurant is doubly awesome. Even GrannyBear, who normally eats marginally less food than my idiot cat, had three courses of breakfast. And LittleBear packed away enough for at least three small boys. We like it here.