When I was pregnant with my first child, I was overjoyed and incredibly arrogant. I was young, fit and thought I was a model pregnant woman. I read through all the pregnancy books, ate an Ayurvedic diet, did sport, went to pregnancy yoga, went to a mum-to-be swim to prepare for the birth and drank raspberry leaf tea. I dreamed of a picture-book birth in the water and a blissfully slumbering dream baby.

Of course, everything turned out differently. Completely different.

Now you have to know that I have four children. I love them dearly. As a young mum, however, I was often overwhelmed. My first-born already had a mind of his own as a baby: he didn't care about his due date, he rushed into the world at an insane pace, was ravenously hungry every two hours, drank too greedily and therefore regularly screamed his lungs out. Yes, he was already blessed with a kind-hearted but fiery temperament as a miniature human.

I surrendered to my hormones, revelling in my unbridled new love and trying to do everything right. I usually managed that quite well during the day. At night, however, I failed miserably. After four months without any significant sleep, my son had four teeth at once and everything got much worse. I often found living with my little breastmilk Buddha difficult, especially as he couldn't speak and I/we had to constantly guess what was going on, what he needed, whether something was missing, if so, what, whether it was bad or not. I had many, oh so many questions. Those around me showered me with advice. The mother's counsellor advised me to stop breastfeeding, the paediatrician advised early complementary feeding, the mother-in-law said I should just let the child cry, the neighbour advised me to be more relaxed and my childless friends gave me the classic book "Every child can learn to sleep", whose North Korean methods horrified me.

I intuitively felt that behind each of these statements was a norm that I didn't agree with. But what should I do? Going your own way requires a lot of strength. And without sleep, it is difficult to find this strength. One morning, as I was walking to my favourite café for a double cappuccino, I made a detour to the bookshop next door. The nice bookseller took a look at my slumbering child in the sling and the bags under my eyes. She handed me the book "Babyjahre" by Remo Largo. It was my saviour. I read it through in one go. And I immediately trusted this man who seemed so omniscient as an author.

Anyone who has "Baby Years" on their bookshelf will know that there is a matrix at the end of the book, the so-called 24-hour protocol. When I found out about Remo Largo's death, I leafed through the book again and discovered the sleep log I had filled in. I realised that my son actually had a really good day/night rhythm! How splendidly he was thriving! From the age of two months, he was always between the 92nd and 95th percentile. All good!

I must have realised this at the time, because after three weeks I stopped the sleep protocol.

I had marked the following passage with an exclamation mark:

"Parents assume, for example, that a child sleeps through the night at the age of three months, that it takes its first steps at the age of one and speaks at the age of two. However, such ideas only correspond to children in exceptional cases because children develop very differently. Ideas of norms are expectations of error. They are less of a help than a source of uncertainty for parents."

And:

"How can parents free themselves from the norms, traditional attitudes and firmly established counselling concepts? How can they succeed in orientating themselves to the current stage of development and the individual needs of their child? Two things are helpful here: a certain amount of knowledge about the process and diversity of child development and the willingness to pay attention to the child's behaviour and adapt to it. If parents know that children's need for sleep varies, they won't base their behaviour on any particular information. Instead, they will pay attention to how much sleep their child needs."

In his "Baby Years", "Child Years", "School Years" and "Youth Years", Remo Largo explained to me how small children generally grow up. What they need for this and how you can give it to them. At the same time, all his books make one thing clear: every child is unique. And that is precisely why Largo's central message is that parents, carers and teachers should try to allow every child to become themselves.

Which is of course terribly humane, but also incredibly difficult. Remo Largo has achieved the feat of making me understand that each of my children does their best every day. And I understand my existence as a mother primarily in such a way that they have the absolute right to live their individuality and the life that suits them. It is therefore my job to always stand behind the uniqueness of my children with one hundred per cent love.

Remo Largo's books are still with me now. Two of my children are now in puberty. It is a time of letting go, of allowing and trusting, and again it is sometimes like many years ago when I studied the sleep behaviour of babies at night, completely exhausted from sleep deprivation: I leaf through Remo Largo's books, and his findings encourage me and give me peace of mind. And so the conclusion of my text is also due to him, who emphasised the unconditional love between parents and children like no one before him. This love, attentiveness and patience is reflected in the following quote:

"When my daughters reached puberty, I realised as a father how much affection I had received from them over the years, often just like that, without doing anything in return. I realised once again what a great gift this unconditional love from children is for us parents. I had to learn to give up the claim to filial love, to give up at least the unconditional part of this love, and hope that a new partnership relationship would develop between us. If, on the other hand, we parents try to demand affection from our children and even reproach them, we run the risk that they will only turn away from us even more. When children reach puberty, we parents not only have to rethink, we also have to rethink how we feel."

Thank you, Remo Largo!