The babies parade about the living room on their adult chariots. For pre-verbal creatures, they're pretty effective communicators. If one of their minions stops walking, stops bouncing, or - god help us - sits down, the commanding baby screeches until full service resumes. From their perches draped on our shoulders, or sitting up on an adult arm, they survey the wreckage of our adult lives, and finally,imperiously, they smile.
And goddamn them, the smile gets us every time. Our indentured state is assured.
I feel wholly bullied, and there's not a soul I can complain to. Last night, I passed an important milestone. At 6AM, wrestling with Felix while trying to keep a dummy in Max's mouth, I finally and utterly dropped the analysis. No more spinning rationalisations: they slept less than usual today/ perhaps if I hadn't drunk 2 coffees/ Felix is teething/ if I had picked Max up first maybe I'd have got him down before Felix woke... There is no logic, no system, no cause and effect. They are just unpredictable, adorable bullies. And all the bedtime routines, early weaning, dietary adjustments, baby massage courses and special songs I throw at them won't make them quiet placid babies who sleep through the night. But it won't always be like this.
Some day, when they're willful pig headed toddlers who won't do a thing we tell them, we'll look back at this time longingly. Strangely, that knowledge doesn't quite help.
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