‘What I wanted was Mary Poppins with a magic wand. What I got was Jane Tennison’

At her wits’ end, Charlotte Cripps calls in a specialist to help her manage her youngest daughter and the problems of six-times-a-night feeding

(Illustration by Amara May)

I haven’t slept properly in months; I don’t know how much more I can take. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I couldn’t find the front-door keys, called in the locksmith and then found them in the fridge, as I got out the milk. The problem is that Liberty, 18-months-old, still wakes me up six times in the night to breastfeed. I’m trying to stop it, but when I give her a bottle, she throws it across the room, shouting “No, no, no.”

I didn’t have any of these problems with Lola, so I’m clueless about what to do? That’s when I finally call Alex’s cousin, Miranda, a Norland-trained nanny. She is a parental consultant, with clients from all walks of life, including the rich and famous. I’ve read her testimonials from parents and they like her non-judgemental, open-minded approach.

Ever since Lola was born, she has offered to help out in an emergency – and never has there been a more appropriate time. I’m expecting a real-life Mary Poppins to walk in and wave her magic wand. Instead, I’ve got a tough-talking Jane Tennison, Prime Suspect’s DCI, scanning the kitchen and sizing it – and me – up for breaches in health and safety.

“You do know Charlotte, that sleep deprivation is dangerous – it’s worse than drink driving,” is the first thing she comes out with, while I’m making her a cup of tea. Oh my god that is a bit full-on, I think. I can tell I’m not in for an easy ride.

She’s looking alarmed as I show her our sleeping set-up. “Ok, so you all sleep in the bed together?” she notes, and then informs me – as if I didn’t know – that children need their own bedrooms. What am I supposed to do? I only have two bedrooms and nanny Rosalee stays half the week. Ok, I wasn’t expecting a miracle cure but neither was I about to make an appointment with Foxtons to put up a “for sale” sign outside.

She needs to be a bit more “creative” with my scenario. We run through a few options; she even offers to lend me some bunk beds for my bedroom. Great idea but where would you put those exactly? Turning my last sanctuary into a desperate Airbnb-type situation is horrifying. Call me mad, but I am a Libra and I quite like my flat to look aesthetically pleasing.

‘You do know Charlotte, sleep deprivation is dangerous – it’s worse than drink driving,’ is the first thing she comes out with

She tells me that Liberty doesn’t have a sense of time yet; and that she needs a routine to make her feel secure. What is my routine like? Oh god, no, don’t go there. When I stop to think about it, I suddenly realise how chaotic it is. As Miranda is troubleshooting her way through my life, I open up, and start mumbling: “It’s a nightmare, it’s a nigtmaaaaaare.”

Muggles, meanwhile, is disrupting any chance of a calm consultation, which I’m very glad I’m not paying for. It can run into hundreds, even thousands, when consultants move in to do it all for you – sorting out the routine: the weaning, the potty training – while yummy mummies go to the gym.

He’s barking madly out in the garden: oh god are the rats back? Thank god I got him out of bed before she came to review my case. Perhaps I’m beyond help from even the best in the business. I’m starting to seriously worry that I’m going to be the only case she can’t solve.

Miranda is flummoxed by my situation. “This could be a tough one – little red lights are going beep, beep, beep. I might have to go home and get some sleep and let myself process this,” she says. Lucky her, I think, I wish I could get some sleep too. She says I’m looking through cracked glasses as opposed to rose-tinted ones. We need to restore stability so that I can sleep.

I start to imagine this perfectly idyllic and balanced home life with Lola and Liberty: me never raising my voice, never losing the plot, and us all waking up fresh and radiant after another undisturbed night’s sleep; but I’m jolted back into reality.

“A child at nine-months-old becomes attached to a ‘transitional object’ such as a Teddy or a blanket. But sometimes it can become a breast,” Miranda says with a knowing look. I think she may have hit the nail on the head. “Oh my god, my breast is Liberty’s transitional object,” I shriek loudly. That’s it. You’ve got it. But how am I going to change this?

I have a few options: “hardcore extinction” is the hardest as you just stop breastfeeding and let them cry, which Miranda doesn’t advocate. The one I like the sound of is quick return – but it’s not quite as good as it sounds – you have to pop in to settle them but no one gets what they want. Miranda’s key phrase is “persistent and consistent” so whatever path I take, I must apply that. “It’s your first battle of many – stay strong!” she says.

At this point, the kids have returned with Rosalee and I catch Liberty drawing on the hallway floor with a red pen, and grab it from her hand. I shut the door to get some peace and quiet, while quickly checking my text messages. “Oh gosh it does sound like you have a lot going on but can we try to focus on this right now?” she says, just as my phone rings.

“Oh god it’s the vet – I’m sorry. I have to answer this,” I say in a total panic, as I grab my phone from the table. He’s calling with Muggles’ results. What are his survival rates are after the operation? I’m shaking as I say: “Hello.’’ And they check my details. “Yes, it’s Charlotte.” “Muggles Cripps, he’s a Golden Retriever.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. There is good and bad news: they got the lump out which has cured his cancer – but they unexpectedly found another – so suggest another operation early next year.

There won’t be anything left of the dog if this goes on. I put down the phone. It’s like Ernest Hemmingway, who survived two plane crashes in two days. Is Muggles going to survive this?

I’m beside myself with emotion. I wish Alex was here and that we were going through this together. I look at the self-portrait of him on the wall. Miranda says it’s like he’s coming out of that picture – such was his talent to capture a person’ s essence, even his own. While I’m craving him, memories start flooding back, and I start to reminisce about how we first met... a life-shattering moment that would set my life on roller-coaster mode for the next 10 years...