Night feeds are hellish for parents of a newborn. Not that I would know that much about them as if my time as a career girl taught me anything it was the value of delegation, so my other half has been designated night feeder for the duration. That is apart from when he drafts in grandma to take over night nanny duties.
However, despite my best efforts I haven't managed to get off entirely Scott free, and I still sport dark bags under my eyes that almost match my baby change bag for capaciousness and I am, like most mums, permanently exhausted. But perhaps because I am not caught up in the grind of night feeding I have a secret affection for them, and watching my babies dark, beautiful eyes stare up at me as they suck in their milk fills me with love for them.
I think my strange affection stems back to one particular moment with my firstborn. I was ragged with grief as I mourned the loss of my old, independent life and I found it hard to find much love for this problematic new arrival who was busily turning my world upside down. But it was during a night feed that everything changed and I fell into an abyss of love for him that I have yet to reach the bottom of.
I had been ripped from my slumbers by his insistent cries once again and was sitting, exhausted rocking him in a nursing chair, bottle in his hungry mouth, desperate to return to sleep, perchance to dream. He pulled away from the teat, looked up at me, his mummy, who was failing in her duty to love him properly and gave me the most beautiful gummy smile. His whole baby face lit up with adoration, and instantly it was mirrored by my emotions. I was in love at last with my perfect baby.
So while I, just like any new parent, count the days till my twins sleep through, there is a part of me that will miss these treasured dark and dreamy moments with my boys once they are stolen forever by sleep.