I still dream feed Will. Even though he is big enough and plump enough to easily go twelve hours without a feed I just can’t give it up. It’s partly because I don’t want to rock the boat – we’ve got a sweet little routine happening at the moment – but mostly because I love it.
Will is a mover and shaker. Long gone are the days when I could breast feed him while listening to his gentle snuffles and watching his little lashes fluttering against his cheeks. These days I spend our feeds trying to extricate locks of my hair from his fingers.
The dream feed is my chance to recapture Will’s babyhood. He is quiet. He is still. He is utterly content. In that moment we are everything to each other – nothing else exists.
Before I lay him back in his crib I usually spend a few minutes holding him in my arms, admiring his sleeping form and feeling the weight of him, the contours of him.
Tonight while doing this I offered him little good night kisses. First his fingers, then his cheek, and finally his sweet little pouting lips. Desperate for one last moment of togetherness I leaned down and buried my nose in his neck to inhale that wonderful clean-baby smell.
What I inhaled instead was the little patch of vomit he had deposited onto his pyjamas right before bed.
Such are the joys of parenthood.