On Strike

Nate apparently feels as though he is not being adequately compensated for his drudgery and went on bottle strike today. Just in time for MIL to babysit.

After taking a rare 2-hour nap from 9:30am to 11:30am, he woke up famished. His voracious appetite led to extreme intolerance. By intolerance, I mean screaming inconsolably. To the point that our adjacent neighbors probably feared that we were operating a slaughterhouse. MIL tried switching bottles and nipples, varying positions and switching milk - in case one particular vial was contaminated. Still a tomato face. The only thing she could do to get him to eat was to sit him in his Bumbo and feed him breastmilk with one of his soft-tipped spoons.

Oy vey.

After the spoon-feeding distraction, he gained enough composure to concede. And he drank from a bottle with no argument for the rest of the afternoon. Of course, he only drank about 10 oz. in my absence so my boobs have taken a beating tonight.

You'd think after 12 weeks of bottle experience, he would learn that they are not, in fact, demon spawns sent to invade his soul. It's not so much that he's a slow learner. More like a drama king. My temperamental baby certainly knows what he likes. And he's sure to let everyone else know too.

The highlight of the day was that there were no wardrobe mishaps. I arrived home to find him dressed in clothes that actually fit. Also, no assvice was given regarding his gassiness and reflux.

Credit must be given where credit is due. And she paid her dues today.