Babies are so smart. How, after two months of hospital boot camp, with only small doses of extra affection, do they figure out in one night that:-
a) mummy/daddy will pick them up if they cry
b) mummy/daddy will cuddle them and take them in the bed if they shout
c) ‘ooh this bed is much nicer than the cot’
d) mummy will feed me on the hour every hour if she’s right there.
Neither of us has slept more than two hours and poor Husband got summoned by Lucas at 5am (‘daddy in the bed’ – I heard it, it was definitely daddy he said not mummy, at least that’s what it sounded like with my fingers in my ears from under the duvet) to go downstairs and watch a programme where ants present the news.
How long can one survive on two hours sleep. It’s coming up to 9am. I have got up, entertained Lucas, fed Beatrix, been made bacon and eggs (I have been made breakfast of porridge or eggs by my dear husband every day since no. 1 son was born in an act of supreme kindness) and now I am optimistically back in bed. Oh quelle surprise I think I hear Alexander.
I think I’ll see if the hospital would like them back for a couple of hours whole I go to zzzzzzzzzz