At the creche, when they reprimand one of the boys, the other looks crossly at the person reprimanding. Which is not to say that they do not fight, because they do. Daniel’s approach is to slap Michael round the head. Michael bites, everyone. The other evening, however, I noticed bite marks on Michael’s arm. The biter bit. Mind you, I wouldn’t be surprised, if he bit himself. I find, somewhat to my chagrin, that when Daniel refuses to eat (which he almost always does), Michael shakes his head and starts to refuse also. Michael can now climb up on the bed. Unfortunately, he can only get down by sitting on the edge and toppling over. He can also stand up unaided which he enjoys hugely until he ends up falling over on his bottom. Both of them are cruising round the furniture with a certain amount of panache. And Daniel regularly sleeps through the night; last night we slept, uninterrupted, from 11.20 to 5.50.  We get through 24 litres of milk a week up from our previous regular total of 18 – if you care, this is over 6 US gallons.  Only 16 litres of it is for the boys.
I assume you must be bathing in the stuff. Like Cleopatra.
Are you using the milk to make loads of bechamel sauce and getting a good night’s sleep on that? Or is it a desperate attempt to thwart heartburn. I think I drank similar amounts when I was pregnant with Jenny.