Recently, it seems, we've been getting rid of a lot of things where the babies are concerned. I just sorted through a big bag of the clothes they've outgrown (some of which they never even had a chance to wear), designating some things to keep for sentimental reasons, others to donate or give away, and others to sell at my MOT club's upcoming sale. A few weeks ago, we returned the co-sleeper we used for the first few months to the friends who'd lent it to us, and this weekend we returned the folding swing to some other friends. I recently bought an excellent little inflatable tub to put inside the bathtub, rendering the old baby tub we propped in the sink obsolete. We won't need the bouncy seats much longer, either -- Alastair uses them to give both girls their bottles simultaneously, but they're both getting pretty good at holding their own bottles now.
Each time we get rid of something, I feel a palpable sense of relief (less crap in our house!) and excitement for the forward progress; It's really fun, for example, to be able to put both girls in their new inflatable tub together and watch them splash and giggle. At the same time, I can't help getting a little wistful. No more gingerly bundling babies up in towels laid out on the kitchen counter. No more putting them in the "magic swing" (oh, how it could pacify them) and watching them stare at the blinking colored lights and bat at the little dangling toys. No more tiny, swaddled babies sleeping next to our bed in the co-sleeper, making those funny grunting, snorting newborn sounds.
Not that I particularly miss the exhaustion and thanklessness of the newborn phase. I find this older stage of babyhood infinitely more interesting and rewarding, and it seems to just keep getting better -- and easier. But what can I say. I'm a sap. When our friends Mark and Polly were here the other night with their 5-week old, it was so sweet to watch him sleeping, tiny and bundled, making little snorts and sighs. I found myself wishing I could go back and relive the early weeks and months with our girls, but with the super-powerful bond I feel with them now, and the knowledge of what their personalities are like. Alas, life has to be lived forward. Who's the genius who came up with that idea?
Anyway, tonight, we will attempt to bid farewell to another institution of our LWB (life with babies) up until this point: the 10:30 feeding, AKA the "dream feed" for you other Baby Whisperer devotees out there. Alastair has generally done this feeding, which is meant to "tank up" the babies just before we go to sleep, to get them to sleep as long as possible. For the past couple of months it's basically been their only nighttime feeding, and most of the time they don't even wake up for it anymore; we end up feeding them in their sleep. Alastair has been gradually decreasing the amount of breastmilk or formula he gives them, and I've been pumping earlier and for less time, and sometimes not at all. So, tonight, we're going to try to forego the feeding (and pumping) altogether. If/when the girls wake up in the middle of the night we'll (gulp) ignore them and hope they fall back asleep within a few minutes.
How will our heroines fare? Will they be able to go the full 11-12 hour stretch? Or will they wake up angry and miserable and screaming bloody murder at one a.m.? Will their mother be able to resist going to them, or will she cave and whip out the boobs? Tune in tomorrow -- well, more likely Thursday or Friday -- and find out.
