Week ten: Get Sleep, or Die Trying!
It is a Sunday night…
Hunter has cried pretty much all day — a day‑long battle of nappies, 15‑minute naps, feeding (cluster!!!), tears, tantrums, and everything in between. My arms ache, my ears are still ringing, and my brain feels like it’s been on a spin cycle.
But now… he’s asleep. The house is quiet for the first time in hours. I’m sipping a cold mango and peach squash served over ice — my little luxury — and writing out the past weeks events for you, my lucky reader, to indulge in.
There’s some deep and, for some, taboo discussion about co‑sleeping coming up, but I hope you enjoy week 10 of our adventures, and the commitment to being real about it all.
Week ten. Ten whole weeks of Hunter. Ten weeks of learning each other’s rhythms, of discovering that my heart can stretch further than I ever thought possible, and of realising that my definition of “tired” before becoming a mum was laughably naïve. This week has been a mix of chunky baby thighs, bowling alley naps, CEO school revelations, and, most importantly, a deep dive into something I never thought I’d even consider: co‑sleeping.
Hunter has officially moved into size 2 nappies and is now filling out his 0–3 month clothes like he was born for the catwalk. Dressing him feels like I’m a fashion designer preparing for Paris Fashion Week. Every popper, every tiny hat, every pair of socks matters, dahhhhhling! I find myself holding up outfits to the light like they’re precious works of art, even though I know they’ll be covered in milk and vomit within the hour.
Saturday was our big outing of the week: bowling. The lights were flashing, the pins were crashing, the music was loud enough to make my teeth vibrate… and Hunter? He slept through the entire thing. Not a single eyelid flicker. I kept peeking in at him, half expecting him to stir, but he was in his own little dream world.
But the nights… oh, the nights have been a different story. Hunter’s been waking more frequently, and I’ve been feeling it. More bags than Asda, and none of them designer. I’ve been running on caffeine and sheer willpower, trying to keep my eyes open during the day while also soaking up every smile, every coo, every tiny hand squeeze. I decided to take action and downloaded the Huckleberry app, which lets me track his sleep patterns, feeds, nappies, tummy time — you name it. It’s not a magic fix, but it’s given me a sense of control in a season where so much feels unpredictable.
Now, if you’d asked me before Hunter was born, I would have told you, without hesitation, that I was completely against co-sleeping. Just the mere idea of it made my skin crawl, but I was not a sleep deprived mother then!! But there was a reason for that! Working in the ambulance service, I’ve seen the devastating consequences that can happen when a baby shares a bed with a parent in unsafe conditions. Those calls stay with you. They etch themselves into your memory in a way that makes you fiercely protective, sometimes to the point of fear. I swore I’d never take that risk.
But motherhood has a way of humbling you. Of showing you that the black‑and‑white rules you thought you’d live by are actually painted in shades of grey. There have been nights, long, tear‑filled nights, when Hunter has been so unsettled that, after trying everything, I’ve brought him into bed with me. Always starting him in his next‑to‑me crib, always trying to settle him back there after a feed… but sometimes, he just needs me close. And sometimes, I just need sleep.
The first time it happened, it wasn’t a grand decision. It was 4 a.m., I was running on fumes, and I thought, Just for a minute. I lay him next to me, his tiny hand resting on my chest, and within moments his breathing slowed. Mine did too. We both slept. And when I woke, I felt something I hadn’t felt in weeks: rested.
That’s when I realised — co‑sleeping isn’t a single, uniform thing. It’s a spectrum. And in many parts of the world, it’s the norm. In Japan, parents often sleep alongside their babies on firm futons, with minimal bedding, and SIDS rates are among the lowest globally. In parts of Africa and South Asia, bed‑sharing is woven into the fabric of family life, but the sleep environments are very different from our Western setups — firm mats, no pillows, no heavy duvets.
The problem here in the UK often isn’t the act of co‑sleeping itself — it’s how it’s done. Unsafe environments (sofas, armchairs, soft mattresses, duvets, alcohol, smoking) are where the risks skyrocket. And the truth is, many parents end up co‑sleeping unintentionally, dozing off during a feed in bed or on the sofa, and without having prepared the space to be safe.
That’s why I think the conversation needs to change. Instead of pretending it doesn’t happen, we need to talk about how to make it safer when it does.
The Lullaby Trust’s co‑sleeping advice is my go‑to. They recommend:
Never co‑sleep if you or your partner have smoked, drunk alcohol, or taken drugs (including medication that makes you drowsy).
Avoid co‑sleeping if your baby was premature (born before 37 weeks) or had a low birth weight (under 2.5 kg).
Make sure your baby sleeps on their back, on a firm, flat mattress with no pillows, duvets, or loose bedding near them.
Keep them away from the edge of the bed and ensure they can’t fall out or get trapped.
Never sleep with your baby on a sofa or armchair — this is one of the highest‑risk situations.
The NHS safer sleep guidance adds:
The safest place for your baby to sleep for the first 6 months is in a cot or Moses basket in the same room as you.
Sleeping bags can reduce the risk of your baby wriggling under bedding — choose the right tog for the room temperature.
Keep the room between 16–20°C to avoid overheating.
Avoid sleep positioners, wedges, pods, or nests.
The NSPCC’s advice on babies and sleeping also reminds us that bedtime routines, calm environments, and consistency can help babies feel safe and secure, which in turn supports better sleep.
I’ve learned that co‑sleeping, when done intentionally and safely, can be a lifeline. It’s not about breaking rules for the sake of it — it’s about surviving the newborn stage with your sanity intact, while still protecting your baby as much as possible.
It’s also taught me something bigger: that flexibility is not weakness. That adapting to the needs of the moment is a strength. That trusting yourself, even when it means going against your original plan, is part of what makes you the right mum for your baby.
Another highlight of week ten, Lewis Capaldi, WHAT A GUY! WHAT A MUSICIAN! WHAT A TALENT! That night with Lewis Capaldi is still playing in my head like a favourite song. The arena was alive before he even stepped on stage — that low hum of anticipation, the shuffle of people finding their seats, or making their way to the front of the arena with the excuses of “my friend is down there” or “I am trying to find my boyfriend, the smell of beer mingling with the faint tang of stage smoke. When the lights dropped, the roar was deafening.
And then there he was. No grand entrance, just Lewis, the most humble musician imaginable and that voice. The kind of voice that makes you stop mid‑sip, mid‑thought, mid‑breath. Between songs, he was exactly as I’d hoped — funny, self‑deprecating, warm. He made the whole place feel like a living room full of friends.
I’d gone in expecting to cry. I’d pictured myself swaying with the crowd, phone torch in the air, tears streaming. But instead, I sang. Loudly. Badly. Joyfully. I sang until my throat hurt. I let the music fill every tired, frayed corner of me.
And for those few hours, I wasn’t “Mum” — I was Laura. The girl who loves live music, who dances without caring how she looks, who laughs until her cheeks ache.
Of course, mum‑guilt came along for the ride. Two flavours, in fact. One for leaving Hunter. One for letting my phone die halfway through the night. But I was with someone sensible, my mum had her number, and all was well.
Walking back into the house later, the quiet hit me. No crowd, no music — just the soft sound of my baby breathing in his sleep. And I realised something important: I am Laura. I am a mum, yes, but I am also still me. And keeping that part of me alive is one of the best gifts I can give to Hunter.
That same mindset — protecting my identity alongside my motherhood — is what’s fuelling me through CEO school. I could sell you a holiday for £5,000, or I could sell you a future for £156. That line has been rattling around in my head all week. Did you know that 80% of millionaires have a passive income, but almost no one else does? It’s not about chasing money — it’s about creating freedom. Freedom to be present with Hunter, to build something meaningful, to live life on our terms.
Building a travel business with a newborn is… let’s just say it’s not for the faint‑hearted. My professional day is built around Hunter’s social calendar — baby sensory, walks with other mums, visits to Granny — and his naps (or lack thereof). I take calls with him in a sling, answer emails one‑handed while feeding, and sometimes send proposals with a muslin cloth draped over my shoulder.
But here’s the thing: I’m not just keeping the business alive — I’m growing it. Slowly, steadily, in a way that works for us. CEO school has been a game‑changer. It’s not just about sales strategies or marketing funnels — it’s about mindset. About seeing myself as the architect of my own future. About understanding that I can build something sustainable and meaningful without sacrificing the moments that matter most.
I’ve started to think of my days in terms of “Hunter time” and “CEO time” — and sometimes they overlap. Like when I’m on a call with a supplier while pushing the pram through the park, or when I’m brainstorming a new package idea while feeding him. It’s not the kind of workday you’ll find in a productivity book, but it’s ours, and it works.
Some days, the balance feels impossible. There are moments when I’m mid‑Zoom call and Hunter decides it’s the perfect time to practise his new high‑pitched squeal. Or when I’m deep in planning a client’s dream itinerary and he wakes from a nap early, demanding my full attention. But I’m learning to see these interruptions not as obstacles, but as reminders. Reminders that I built this business so I could be here for these moments.
And honestly? Hunter has a better social life than I do. Between baby groups, coffee dates with other mums, and family visits, he’s booked and busy. I joke that I’m just his PA, ferrying him from one engagement to the next. But in between, I’m building something for both of us — a business that will give us choices, freedom, and the ability to say “yes” to the things that matter.
I’m also allowing myself to grow. To learn new skills, to dream bigger, to see myself not just as “Mum” or “business owner” but as a whole person who can be both, and more. I’m realising that growth doesn’t have to happen in spite of motherhood — it can happen because of it. Hunter has made me more focused, more resourceful, more determined. He’s my reason, not my excuse.
Life right now feels like a patchwork quilt — stitched together from tiny, ordinary moments that somehow feel extraordinary when you’re in them.
There’s the way Hunter’s face lights up when I walk into the room, like I’m the most exciting thing he’s ever seen. The way his little fingers curl around mine with surprising strength. The way he’s started making this “ooh” sound when he’s happy, as if he’s narrating his own delight.
And then there are the less glamorous moments — the nappy changes that turn into full‑scale wardrobe changes for both of us, the feeds where he decides to pull off mid‑gulp and spray milk everywhere, the times I’ve answered a business call with a muslin cloth draped over my shoulder and a faint smell of baby sick clinging to my jumper.
But these moments are the fabric of our days. They’re the reason I built my business the way I did — so I could be here for them.
Some of my favourites are the unexpected ones:
The afternoon we went for a walk and an elderly lady stopped us to coo over Hunter. She told me about her own children, now grown, and how she still remembers the smell of their hair after a bath. “It goes so fast,” she said, and I felt that truth settle into my bones.
The time Hunter discovered his hands and stared at them like they were the most fascinating thing in the world.
The morning he woke up with a huge gummy grin, as if to say, We’ve got this, Mum.
These little interactions, these fleeting moments — they’re the threads that weave my days together. They remind me that even when I feel stretched thin, I’m living the life I once dreamed about.
When I look back over these ten weeks, it’s not the “perfect” moments that stand out. It’s the real ones. The ones where I’ve been in the thick of it, hair in a messy bun, tea gone cold, baby on my hip, yet I still found a way to laugh.
The moments where I’ve had to make choices I never thought I would, like co‑sleeping, and discovered that those choices didn’t make me a bad mum. They made me a human one.
Co‑sleeping taught me that flexibility is not weakness. That adapting to the needs of the moment is a strength. That trusting yourself — even when it means going against your original plan — is part of what makes you the right mum for your baby.
It’s a lesson I’ve carried into every part of my life, from how I run my business to how I take care of myself. Because here’s the truth: building a travel business with a newborn is not about “having it all” in the glossy Instagram sense. It’s about weaving the threads of work and motherhood into something that feels like our life.
Some days, that means answering emails while Hunter naps on my chest. Other days, it means closing the laptop early because the sun is shining and we both need fresh air. It’s not a perfect balance — it’s a living, breathing one.
And in the middle of it all, I’m growing. CEO school has given me the tools to think bigger, to see beyond the next feed or nap, to imagine a future where my business gives us freedom — not just financially, but in how we spend our days. I’m learning that I can be ambitious and present. That I can build something meaningful without missing the moments that matter.
Hunter has changed me in ways I didn’t expect. He’s made me more focused, more resourceful, more determined. He’s also made me softer, more patient, more willing to let go of the small stuff. He’s my reason, not my excuse.
And maybe that’s the biggest takeaway from these first ten weeks: that motherhood isn’t about losing yourself. It’s about expanding yourself. About becoming someone who can hold a baby in one arm and a dream in the other. Someone who can sing badly at a Lewis Capaldi concert one night and rock a baby back to sleep the next. Someone who can be both Mum and Laura — fully, unapologetically.
So here’s to the messy, beautiful, exhausting, exhilarating reality of it all. To the nights that feel endless and the mornings that make them worth it. To the business calls taken with a baby on your lap. To the rules you thought you’d never break, and the ones you rewrite with love.
And to every mum reading this, wherever you are in your journey: you’re doing better than you think. You’re showing up. You’re loving hard. And that is more than enough.
“There is no way to be a perfect mother, but a million ways to be a good one.” — Jill Churchill
