I went to visit a friend today who has an adorable three-month-old baby and what struck me most was the silent calm in her house. It took me right back to the peaceful early months with my babies, when they did far more sleeping than screaming. Everyone thinks that the new baby stage is the worst, and the sleepless nights are tough, but the serenity of a calm or sleeping baby is not to be underestimated.
I still recall the sedative effect of baby twin two. I could hold his body in my arms and instantly feel relaxed as he dozed in my arms. The feeling of his milky sweet breathe on my cheek, the supple slump of his tiny body on my shoulder all induced a blissful state of relaxation.
When the older boys were out at school and nursery and the babies were snoozing in their Moses basket the house was a place of infinite calm. An oasis of peace amidst a desert of rushing around doing chores, breaking up fights and generally attempting to run a household.
My house now is never this quiet, unless everyone is out. I can always hear the twins' toy disputes raging down below, or the trundle of the walker being pushed around at top speed, or the clash as all the children's cutlery is unloaded onto the tiled floor for the umpteenth time. Once the boys are home there is the screaming over the XBox, the yelling from the trampoline, the weedling cries of mummy as they attempt to tempt me from my keyboard.
And that's without mentioning the constant stream of people who keep my my domestic life afloat. The lovely nanny clucking and chatting to the boys, the cleaner bustling around the house, my mother just popping round to drop off a book and steal a cuddle from one of the toddling twins. It never ends.
I am thinking that my friend should perhaps sell tickets to us more harassed mothers as I am sure that half an hour in her peaceful house did me far more good than an age spent being pampered at a spa, with the added bonus of a delicious baby cuddle thrown in for free.