My Two Sons

Knickers woke me up to yell at me the other night. Apparently I kept rolling over in my sleep, thus preventing her from getting some precious shuteye.
I drifted back off, pondering how the slumbering mind might bring the free wheeling body to heel.
Another elbow to the ribs.

'Your son needs you.'
'Mmmich one?'
'Noodle.'

I should have guessed, my non-lactating body is of precious little use to Patrick in the wee hours of the morning. Ideally he should go a minimum of three hours between the start of feeds. Ideally I should have enough money to not have to stand in supermarket aisles pondering if 800g for $3.89 is better value than 600g for $3.25.

The Noodle had had an attack of the night terrors, obviously brought on by my bedtime reading of The Gruffalo, which he didn't care for, and the sudden onset of silence as Patrick took a break from his erstwhile incessant shrieking.

I staggered into Noodle's room and collapsed onto the bed next to him. We pushed and shoved for a while, as he shares his mother's proclivity for holding the centre of the bed, but eventually settled with him lying on my chest with his nose in my ear. He then proceeded to narrate the sounds of the night for me.

'Freight train...big freight train...like Thomas...freight train gone. Peacock gone, where'd it go? Oh, magpie...magpie gone. Noodle squash daddy (a wrestling game we play, I'm heaps better at it than him)...squash, squash...etc'

Finally his spring ran down and he fell asleep, his tiny body moulded across my neck and his snores reverberating in my ear. A truly beautiful parenting moment which I savoured for six seconds until I also fell asleep, leaving the dawn light to seep unnoticed into the room.

We've had good days and bad days as Patrick adjusts to his new life, and we also adjust accordingly. He's a healthy baby and no more work than the Noodle was at the same age - but bugger me if a 'normal' baby isn't hard work.