This week is all about change. At three years and eleven months of age The Preschooler will be leaving my room, we'll no longer be co-sleeping. The Husband has the mammoth task of rejigging Things One & Two's bedrooms to accommodate this change. Granted it would make infinitely more sense for The Preschooler to share with Thing One with them both being the male of the species, however to put it bluntly, they'd tear each other to shreds.
It would also seem that The Preschooler is finally weaning. For around 6 months now he's been down to just a feed before sleep and occasionally one if he woke, in the morning or if terribly upset. With pregnancy came a drying up of milk, however this appeared not to deter him. For the first time since the very beginning I became to resent breastfeeding. It was irritating, the sensation was unpleasant. Hell, it even hurt. There simply is no milk. However, we got this far and so it needed to be a mutual and slow process. The past two months or so he's down to a quick feed before sleep, what used to be a long slow feed was limited to a few minutes. I'd discuss with him that there's no longer any milk there and that my body was now storing it for The Baby. I'd even explain that it hurt me. I don't even think he needed or even wanted to feed per se, it was more the knowledge that he could, a security blanket so to speak. So now, we're down to a very quick count to three before sleep. It's not even breastfeeding anymore, barely even a latch on yet should I attempt to remove this precious count to three, he goes most apocalyptic. It's okay, a week ago it was a count to five. Soon it will be no count at all and just a memory. One i'll never forget and he'll probably never remember. Nearly four precious years.
So the end of co-sleeping, the end of breastfeeding and I can't even remember the last time he was up in the sling. possibly 6 months ago maybe? Yet it's all been so gradual, a natural petering out. Gentle. The preschooler is growing up.
There are no words to adequately express the bittersweet array of emotions that are poking holes in my eyes threatening to make them leak. It's a beautiful sadness. A natural celebration.
So I'll keep the words that I cannot type and instead leave you with some recent Preschoolerisms.
The Black Baby
If you've ever met me you'd know I'm pale enough to sparkle. The Husband and all three of The Spawn are pale skinned, blonde haired and blue eyed. We've been married for nearly ten years and together for nearly 14. I'm rarely seen without The Husband or The Spawn.
So, Imagine the hilarity when one of the Preschool teachers called me over with giggles near bubbling out of her nose as she asked me quietly if i'm 'expecting', to which I reply that yes, yes I am. She then went on to say that apparently The Preschooler had announced to the class that his Mummy is having a black baby. Now if The Husband was black that would be understandable or if I was single and had a delicious boyfriend who happened to be black, however you couldn't get a paler family if you tried. However, there is perhaps a hint of method to his madness as he apparently went on to explain that he'd seen the baby on a screen at the hospital, in mummy's tummy, and it was black. Bless. For of course, the 2D ultrasounds do indeed show things in black and grey. You have to love how literal preschoolers can be. I admit, I nearly pee'd myself. It was such a profoundly literal and innocent observation to make. I wasn't alone, The Staff themselves were in stitches, finding it so funny that it was documented in his learning log for that day!
The Husband finally saw fit to remove his tramp beard, something he grows knowing fully how utterly revolting I find it. Whilst having a bath with The Preschooler, The preschooler pipes up 'I wish you could have your beard back' and then suggested that The Husband could put a beard back on his face using the beard from his willy.
Thing Two collects Moshlings, something The Preschooler covets. He's now found a fail safe way to gain them. Thing Two asked him to hide two of them as part of a game, he obliged. However, his hiding place was down his underpants. Thing Two was so utterly horrified that they'd been in contact with a willy that she told him to keep them. Not happy with plan A, in order to garner more of them he then proceeded to threaten to put them up his bum. Guess who has the most Moshlings now?