I seem to remember with Jack there being this almost invisible cut-off date at which we stopped feeding him milk by a bottle in his bedroom before putting him down to sleep each night. I don't, however, remember thinking twice about it, nor feeling any sort of loss about not doing it anymore.
This evening, it crossed my mind, whilst feeding a now-one-year old, Oliver.
As much of a chore as it is to make bottles of what I call 'plastic milk', (that is, powdered milk) and everything that goes with it, such as washing/sterilising/etc, it's actually... relaxing.
Here's what I mean to clarify that; Assuming that you can calm a screaming hungry toddler down in the dead of night which is the whole reason that you're there in the lion's den, the actual act of feeding a small, innocent and, to be fair, helpless/feeble child and to then lay them softly back into their cot ideally fast asleep, is quite gratifying.
Tonight, and no different from most nights that I feed him, Oliver was laying on my chest, face upwards, drinking from his bottle of plastic milk, eyes closed and arms open wide. His head rested on my shoulder, almost ear-to-ear, and occasionally stopping the sucking of milk, but otherwise, chomping though as though this was his first feed in weeks. Basically, his complete and utter trust/faith/love in me, as a parent, is personified right there.
And that's when I thought about it.
"Will I miss this moment?"
"Will I forget how peaceful he sounds or how relaxed he and I both are (aside from listening to the noise of moving liquid just millimetres away from my ear or constantly smelling the foulness of the previously-powder-now-stinky formula milk)?"
"Should I make more of a mental note to remember these details, for when he's older and pestering me for money for something?"
Hmm. Maybe.
