Well you finally have this bottle feeding thing down to a fine art. Now it’s time for solids.
Smacking your lips in encouragement and making yummy noises you begin the unenviable task of spoon feeding rice cereal to two infants at once.
You balance two plates in one hand and alternate spoons. One baby promptly spits it out while the other greedily looks for more.
After both finally agree that rice cereal is not the devil incarnate, you move on to mushy peas and pureed carrot.
Twelve permanently stained bibs later and these kids are starting to get the hang of it. Of course, not even Big Kev is going to resurrect those bibs.
It seems that the corner you were waiting to turn three months ago is finally here. You decide to ease the babies out of their late night bottle and miraculously it works, providing you with a few extra hours of much-needed sleep.
You are now managing seven hours’ sleep with an average of only one break a night requiring some minor patting or cuddling.
Of course when you were getting three hours’ sleep all you wanted was five; when you were getting five, all you wanted was seven; and now you’re getting seven and all you want is 12 hours’ sleep and the weekends off.
One morning you wake up and look at DH. No I mean you REALLY look at DH. ‘Hi’, you say, really seeing him for the first time in months.
Taken aback, he replies ‘Hi’, and starts to slowly walk backwards in the direction of the bedroom door.
Maintaining eye contact, but trying not to startle you he is clearly afraid this is the precursor to another trip to the chemist for nipple cream.
You try to put him at ease. ‘I think we need a holiday’. He laughs hysterically and with a wild look in his eye you can tell he is picturing how he will fit two port-a-cots, the nappy bag and three packs of Huggies, two play arches, the bottles and steriliser and our luggage in the boot of the car.
‘No, a holiday. Just you and me.’ You watch the light dawn and a smile spread. Now you’ve done it. It’s out there and there’s no taking it back. Somehow you have to make this work.
You phone your Mum and Dad and with relatively little pleading they agree to come and look after the babies for a week.
After much debate about where to spend your six nights of freedom you settle on Hong Kong. That’s about as far away as your Frequent Flyer points will get you.
The countdown begins and panic sets in. How will your parents cope? Have you asked too much of them? Will the babies freak out? Can you bear to leave them? We can’t possibly afford to do this.
Still, the days march on and D-day arrives. As you wave goodbye and strap yourself into the aeroplane seat you feel vaguely guilty at the glee in escaping. Already you miss the boys, but turn back? Never.
You phone home every day from the telephone box outside your hotel.
Cursing the fact you had boys you walk the markets and pass up all the gorgeous Chinese silk baby dresses. Come day six you narrowly avoid a typhoon and head for home.
Arriving at the door you wait for your little angels to scream with joy when they see you.
Instead, they look at you blankly. ‘Who are you?’ they’re little faces say. ‘We have a new Mummy and Daddy now.’ You are crestfallen as one baby actually clings to your Dad and refuses to be handed to you.
Fortunately it only takes an hour for the equilibrium to return.
They’ve forgiven and forgotten in minutes, but you’ve tucked it away for later. Come they’re 18th birthday there’ll be no cars in the driveway for them.
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