A Line in the Milk

Picture 015The Big-O has put his fat foot in the downward position and there will be no more milk today…… at least not from a bottle. Since the sweet little fat man was born 3 months ago he has been given a bottle at least once a day, every day, to ensure the freedom of his moveable feast – namely myself. Our older daughter, whom I will refer to as Little-C because although more than two years his senior she is soon to be dwarfed by his massive manly girth, stopped taking a bottle at age 4 months, nary to touch it again. We thought it was our fault. If only we had bottle-fed her daily as per the instructions of our dear friend Dr. Weissbluth, we would have been able to go on a date lasting longer than 3 total hours during the first year of her life. So last night we won tickets to see a Buster Keaton double feature at the Paramount in Seattle with live organ accompaniment. Our lovely and fabulous neighbor Judi agreed to watch the kids and we assured her that Big O was “great” at taking a bottle. (Is it considered a lie if you really believe what you’re saying is true? I guess it depends on if you’re the one who said it and ran off to the movies or the one left at home with someone else’s kids -7 months pregnant- walking the floor with the biggest 3 month old in recorded history)

When we got home, I apologized profusely to Judi and quickly gave Big-O one his favorite appendages to calm him down. Then I began to think. If he’s hungry enough, “they” always say, he’ll eat what is offered to him. So when he woke up 9 hours later, my husband tried to feed him as I ran out to a doctor’s appointment. No luck. The latex bottle was repeatedly ejected. “Oooooh no,” says I, “I will not lose a battle of wills to a 3-month old. Hours later, dancing on the line between no-nonsense parenting and child abuse, I finally gave in. Out came the appendages and he is napping soundly.

Now what do we tell our babysitter tonight? Whatever it is may be classified as a half-truth of some variety. My lovely husband has planned a surprise date to commemorate our not having gone on one for as long as we can remember. I really hope he hired someone instead of trading with one of our friends. I’ll top off the Big-O before Dan and I dash off into a world of eternal romantical bliss for 4 hours. (Don’t question the use of the word eternal; it makes the date more enjoyable if you pretend it isn’t going to end) Then maybe the teenager he’s hired will actually earn the 8 bucks an hour we have lately been obliged to shell out.

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