They lulled us into a false sense of security. They bided their time, plotting their comeback. Friday night was D-day for the swaddling. Young Daddy and I decided to go cold turkey and put the babies to sleep with (shock, horror!) their arms free and untethered. We prepared ourselves for Armageddon and were shocked and elated when neither baby put up a fight. We woke up feeling smug on Saturday morning, patted each other on the back and celebrated our achievement.
Little did we know that Miss E and Mr A had been so quiet all night because they were secretly conspiring against us, and devising a new battle plan. Our happy, cooing babies suddenly became screaming monsters when we tried to put them down for their morning nap, each managing to sleep for a fraction of their usual time. We went swimming (a success for the second week apart from when I accidentally dropped an unprepared Miss E into the water. She was, unsurprisingly unimpressed). Surely they would be worn out from all that physical exertion? But nope, the lunchtime nap was a combat zone once more and so we had two very very cantankerous babies for the afternoon.
Miss E and Mr A formulate their battle plan
By bedtime, Miss E was worn out by all the fighting and surrendered, but Mr A was not about to wave the white flag that easily. He woke at 9.30pm, 10.30pm, 1.15am, 1.45am, 3.30am and finally 6am, when Miss E joined his crusade once more.
We are crushed, down, but not defeated! A couple of months ago we probably would have given up at this point, and those babes would have been swaddled in their straitjackets quicker than it takes me to down a glass of vino but we are determined this time. With our eye on the prize of being able to leave Mr A and Miss E for a stay at Hotel Grandparents we will stick to our guns. Bring it on!