Not yet 9am.
It started with a night terror in the early hours. The now familiar pitter patter of small footsteps from his room to ours, the little voice somewhere in that place between sleep and awake shouting for mummy in between sobs. Daddy quickly jumps on duty, this time mummy has another mouth to feed.
Seemingly five minutes later; woken again, in those unearthly ‘Neverland’ hours. A quiet whimpering followed by the sound of sucking fingers, threatening to erupt into full on crying if the situation is not addressed quickly. The feed begins, mum and bub both fumbling about, trying to connect in the dark so as not to wake anyone who doesn’t need to be. 45 minutes later we both settle back to sleep.
Is it only 30 seconds later that a loudly crying baby wakes up for another very early feed? No, it is now sometime between night and day. Not quite early enough to still be night but definitely too early to start the day. Deftly baby is placed into bed for a pre breakfast.
she projectile vomits all over herself, me and the newly changed bed.
The day begins, dragging us with it despite our protestations.
Daddy fights for 1/2 hour attempting to give baby a bottle to give mummy some much needed rest. It is roundly and loudly refused as she becomes more and more distressed. Hearing this I creep downstairs to feed her, trying not to wake the other one.
This is futile, he is up not long afterwards woken by the commotion of a crying hungry baby and a washing machine whirring and beeping under the load of vomit soaked sheets.
He refuses breakfast, repeatedly, he screams and screams and screams some more while destroying the house as he tears through it like a tornado. He pinches and tries to kick and he swears and laughs at any form of attempted discipline.
He refuses to get dressed, we chase him round the house to try to ready him for the day.
The baby’s cries, forming a shrill high-pitched harmony to the lower and louder screams of the other.
Finally, he is dressed and ready to go. Finally we can leave. Just baby left to dress.
“Muuum I done a wee”
He stands in a puddle, his shorts soaking wet.
“Ok go downstairs so daddy can change you while I sort baby”
“I can’t leave baby on changing table alone,
“No” he shouts, “I don’t want to”
Daddy is despatched, kicking and screaming he is taken down the stairs. Kicking and screaming he’s undressed and dressed again.
Kicking and screaming he is manhandled by 2 whole adults into the pram, doing a great impression of a WWF wrestler matching him against the tag team. One tag team member finally manages to hold him in while the other straps him in 1, 2, 3 shouts the referee in my head. It’s done.
Finally ready to go.
It is not yet 9am.
We leave the house – husband late for work.
We rush off in opposite directions.
An old lady stops us on our journey. Looking into the pram, she smiles and asks how old they are.
Are you feeding from the breast she asks.
My answer pleases her.
“Aww beautiful” she says,” this time is so precious you enjoy it”
I nod automatically.
We smile, say our goodbyes, set off again and turn the corner. He begins to scream and smack his sister in the head, she begins to cry.
Normal service – resumed
*Sigh – precious times*
1st image credit usamedeniz / FreeDigitalPhotos.net