Feeding O hasn’t really progressed.
Actually, that’s a big fat lie. He has taken a bottle and will eat baby food. He prefers the baby food to the 5oz of breastmilk I pump between Wednesday night and Thursday morning. The breastmilk ends up in the sink. I could cry, I really could. But I don’t because if I cry about anything, the crazy might come out and I won’t stop. So I just look sad. Like cute puppy dog needing a home sad. Or cute kitten. Ok, I make the same face as the animals in the RSPCA adverts, ok? Can we move on?
So, breastmilk flushed down the drain…
He feeds when I get home (normally, not always) then the night begins.
Now, he can go 6 hours over night. He usually manages 4. I can cope with 4. Eight to midnight, one to half four, five to nine. Yep, we can work with that, especially if I go to bed about 10 and get a couple of hours kip in before he wants feeding. Or I pull off a dream feed. Either way, if he must wake in the night, this is the pattern I like.
Except on Thursdays.
I get home at 10, feed. Go to bed a bout 11, get woken up at midnight to feed. Get back to sleep at 1 ish, wake up at 2 to feed. Bed at 3, back up at four. He might then go until she comes in at 7.30. Maybe.
Then I spend all friday comfort feeding him.
All this because I left him for five hours.