2 AM Feedings
Andrea and I had many conversations about the division of labor when it came to our little princess. I happily handled more than my share of diapers and bath times, but when it came to feedings, Andrea naturally took the lead — especially once her milk came in and she began producing an impressively generous supply.
That, combined with her recovery from an emergency C-section, meant we needed to be practical. When my six weeks off ended and I returned to work, we negotiated a system: I would still handle every other night’s middle-of-the-night feeding.
Those feedings usually happened somewhere between 2 and 4 AM.
At the time, I worked in Stockton — about 42 miles door to door — and my shift ran from 6 AM to 2 PM. That meant waking up at 4:30 every morning. On the nights it was my turn, there were moments when my motivation to get out of bed was… lacking.
Andrea, ever supportive, would occasionally assist my awakening by pivoting her body, placing her feet squarely on my back, and gently — lovingly — pushing me out of bed. I either stood up or hit the floor with absolutely no grace. This technique was only required a few times. I learned quickly.
Once upright, I’d shuffle into Alexandrea’s room, scoop her up, and head to the kitchen. The precious elixir waited in the refrigerator. I’d heat a bowl of water in the microwave, place the bag of milk into it, then transfer it carefully into a bottle. A quick temperature check on my wrist, and the bottle was delivered to a very patient customer.
Alex would clamp down on my thumb with a death grip and drink with professional-level efficiency. I’d look into her eyes as she focused intensely on the task at hand and wonder what she could possibly be thinking. Holding my little princess, gazing at my precious little angel, I wondered who she would become — how she would talk, what she would say.
I remember thinking, I can’t wait until she can talk and we can really communicate.
Years later, her grandfather would lovingly nickname her Princess Talks-A-Lot. Alex has the rare ability to suck all the oxygen out of a room as she monopolizes the conversation — and she raises her volume to ensure she’s clearly heard if she suspects she’s being challenged for the stage.
Be careful what you wish for.
Parenthood doesn’t begin when you have answers. It begins when you realize you don’t — and proceed anyway.
More reflections to come. I’m sure there are still buttons I haven’t learned to avoid.
