TWENTY years have flashed by since we last had the responsibility of looking after a baby through the night - and the mental scars will probably never fully heal.

With four babies coming off our own production line in a seven-year blur, all I can remember is the perpetual lack of sleep. I’d be walking round like a zombie at work the next day, not really knowing where I was or what I was doing, and developing an addiction to strong coffee to keep me going.

It got so bad that my wife and I made a pact: that we’d alternate in shifts to let the other have three full hours sleep before taking over.

There were times, especially with our first born, when I’d strap him into the car-seat and drive round aimlessly, wearing my dressing gown, and desperately hoping the motion and noise of the engine would make him nod off.

I can’t think of a sound that’s quite as dispiriting as the cry of a baby in the small hours and I hereby confess that there were occasions when I pretended not to hear in the hope that my wife would take pity on me and do a double shift.

So, with all of that in mind, it was a bit scary when we were asked if we could baby-sit our 17-weeks-old grand-daughter, Chloe, right through the night while her mum and dad had a well-earned break in a nice hotel.

Excitement was mixed with trepidation but, now the experience is behind us, I’m happy to report that we needn’t have worried. It was an absolute doddle.

Little Chloe was dropped off at our house in the afternoon with a list of instructions and various supplies. I was still at work so my wife, who has finally grown more comfortable with being known as Grandma, kept her entertained, changed her nappy, and topped her up with milk when she showed signs of being hungry.

By the time I arrived home in the early evening, Chloe was snuggled up in a blanket, fast asleep on the settee. She didn’t stir once while I had my egg and chips in front of Question of Sport on the telly and she didn’t wake up for another feed until just before bedtime at around 10.30pm.

Then, after a bit fussing and some gentle rocking from her Grandma, she settled down nicely. She slept in her carry-cot on our bed and didn’t wake for another bottle for a full five hours. After that 3.30pm feed, she went back to sleep without too much trouble and didn’t wake again until 7pm.

I can honestly say I didn’t hear a peep from her all night. That’s because I’d thoughtfully taken the strategic decision to sleep in the spare room to give my wife and Chloe plenty of room in the bed.

Like I said, it was an absolute doddle.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

THANKS TO Tom Banks, in Durham, who got in touch to tell me about three-year-old daughter Georgia blurting out: “Why did you have to cut my nails? I can’t get my bogeys out now!”

MEANWHILE, Matt Westcott, of Middlesbrough, was a bit taken aback by the political analysis of his four-year-old son Ethan. While Sky News was on in the house, Ethan declared: “That’s Donald Trump - he hates everyone.”

TOM, a father-of-three from Stockton who wishes to remain anonymous, is feeling understandably delicate. His eight-year-old daughter Gemma declared at a family gathering: “Daddy, I can see your head coming through your hair – I think you’re going to have to try to stay in the dark as much as possible so the light doesn’t make it too shiny.”

AND thanks to Dr Ian Bagshaw, in my home village of Hurworth-on-Tees, whose youngest son has three daughters – Laura, six, Katie, four, and Iona, two.
Getting in the car to go home, Laura announced: “I'm going to be a gymnast , Katie is going to play football for Darlo Ladies – and Iona has a very bad temper.”