The switch happened about six weeks ago. Paul and I decided that it was a good time to wean the littles at night. It’s hard to believe but I guess I was beginning to show signs of being a bit tired. I hadn’t had a full night sleep in more than 18 months. Up until this point my bed time job was to put the littles down the only way there is, to nurse them into oblivion. Too bad though, the trance only lasted for two hours. And then I do it again and again and again, until Paul’s sweet voice woke me the next morning. Paul was in charge of putting the bigs down by reading and singing. Well, anyone with milk in their boobs would tell you that I had it made… I possessed the only REAL Super Hero Power.

Well, back to weaning. It took about three nights for the littles to get over me. I guess you could say I was sadened by the short amount of time it took. But then I was beginning to feel bad for Paul. His sentence now was just beginning—to spend the rest of his nights fighting the littles to just relax and give up the ghost. And all I had to do was read and sing. I was on easy street, or so I thought. But then something funny happened, the bigs wanted a lot of books read and my entire repertoire to be sung every night. And just as I was finishing up the first book, I would hear Paul leave the babies and walk down the creakiest stair case, just minutes after saying good night to us. And now the babies are sleeping through the night too.

On occasion I ask him how he does it, and he gives me a big smile with a little giggle and says “they just fall right asleep.” I know one thing, Paul is my super hero!