Ah yes, the sleep training thing.
I haven’t mentioned this since our explosive beginning. Mostly because Henry, with exquisite timing, decided to start sleeping through again on the same day I delivered our apology gifts. Wish I’d kept the cookies. Neither of us can take any credit whatever for his sleeping patterns – he just came packaged with good nights and dreadful mealtimes, and he seems to have gone back to his comfort zone on both counts. If the law of averages works out, Baby Deux will be a ravenous insomniac with a penchant for teeth-brushing and whispering. Bring it on, little thing.
We have, though, used the sleep-training opportunity to kick the bottle habit at long last. He’s been going to sleep with a bottle of formula milk since he was a tiny seven-week-old, and I was sliiiightly concerned about what kind of hell might be raised without one. No hell at all, it turns out. For a few weeks we gave him a bottle about forty minutes before bedtime or a nap, making sure he did enough afterwards that he wasn’t relying on the bottle to make himself drowsy. Filling the gap in his bedtime routine was harder, but I improvised – lamely – by making him help me find a dummy, then help me turn the light off, then help me turn his music on. We invented a little ritual of always putting him down on the same blanket, and putting his other blankets on top in the same order. Like a bedtime quest with a not-very-exciting conclusion. It seemed pretty rubbish to me, but it worked after a few days. He never, ever cried longer than six minutes, and mostly he gave up after one. Now he doesn’t cry at all. The next leap is to get rid of the dummy, but my nerves aren’t up to that just yet. Give me a few more months to teach him properly about bribery.
I’ve been trying to think of what we might spend that formula milk money on. All I’ve come up with so far is doughnuts. Any advance on doughnuts, brain?
Of course, sometimes we have days when Daddy gets home five minutes after bedtime, and invents an excuse to get Henry up again. We don’t mind that. Daddy is our favourite. Hot drinks are our second favourite.