It is 6am on a weekend morning.
This is an hour I have not cared to acquaint myself with since… well, ever really. And since the child was a new-born, to be fair, I have not really had to.
With very little instruction she has adhered rather nicely to the seven till seven rule - and on the occasions that she does wake early she will happily chat to her toys, the curtains and the towel hanging on the back of the door until her mother staggers in to bid her good morning.
But today, for reasons I have not been able to fathom, it's all gone wrong.
She's not happy. After a late night we're not that happy either. And so, for the first time ever, we bring her into the parental bed in the hope that we will all get a bit more kip.
She usually adheres to the seven to seven rule, but today it’s all gone wrong
Alas, she does not recognise our sanctuary as a place of rest and relaxation - and having hitherto claimed our mattress as her personal trampoline, sees no reason why a spot of early morning bouncing won't go down a storm.
It doesn't.
"Lie down, darling. Show us you are a big girl and put the covers on just like mummy and daddy."
She lies down between us and for a moment I think that we've cracked it, but… thwack! My head lands on the mattress with a thump as she pulls my pillow towards her, saying: "Come on mummy, let's share".
And then quiet. An opportunity for two very tired grown-ups to fall straight back to sleep. Except…
"Help, help," a little voice cries from the other end of the bed where my pillow now appears to have turned into a small land mass marooned in a sea of duvet. "I am stuck on a little island and I'm feeling a bit left out."
I would like to say that it is my superlative parenting skills that persuade her to come back and lie quietly between us - but that would be a lie, and once again I am forced to credit my achievements to good old-fashioned bribery and corruption.
Blissful silence.
"Mummy, can I ask you a question?"
"Um, OK."
"Mummy, can I say the brachah for wine?"
"As long as I can keep my eyes closed, that would be lovely darling"
"Baruch ata… hagofen Shabbat amen."
"Very good, darling"
"Aren't you going to give me a clap?"
Desperate for respite I pull the snowy duvet over my head.
"Oh look, " cries an excited small girl. "It's a white horse"
She bounces up and down on top of me. "Come on horse. Clippety clop. Giddy up. Bye bye, mum and dad."
"Where are you going?"
"To Banbury Cross, of course"
If sleep is for the weak then it appears that I am Samson before the haircut.
We get up.
It is now lunchtime and I have to admit that I'm fading fast. So forgive me if I take my leave - I'm off to grab 40 winks in the shed.