I fed my baby a bottle last night. I’m very proud of myself. I know that sounds nuts, but, it was actually no small feat. One of the most difficult adjustments for me as a new parent was having to try new things all the time: things I was afraid of trying, like…everything. Sometimes it was just easier to do what I was doing, even if trying something new could actually make my life better. Pumping and bottle feeding, along with sleep training, night weaning, complete weaning, moving kid from bassinet to crib, from our room to his own room, going from swaddle to sleep sack, you catch my drift. Every single one of these things evoked such panic in me that I probably put them off for way way longer than I should have. In the case of the bottle with my first born, I was so exhausted that I couldn’t imagine finding the time to pump, so I could have more time to myself. Vicious Cycle.
What I learned after the first kid is that sometimes you have to bite the bullet and just do it, because nine times outta ten you’ll be happy you did. Shnook wouldn’t take a bottle. The reason he wouldn’t is that both my husband and I were too tired and afraid to rock the already tumultuous boat of having a sleepless boob-lover of an infant. Actually, I did try. A handful of times, I would pump and leave Daddy with a bottle for several hours. When I returned, the Shnook had miraculously slept the whole time without drinking a sip. So, down the drain went the fruits of my labor.
With Fuzz, I wanted to make sure he took a bottle as soon as it wouldn’t cause any nipple confusion. We gave him one or two, but then lapsed. Finally, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I defrosted a small amount of milk and sat down to feed him. I probably should’ve waited until he wasn’t screaming. No go. Later that evening, I tried again. After giving me a very confused expression, and gagging on the nipple a little, he finally started sucking like a champ. Victory! Or, maybe not…
Last night Fuzz had the worst night since we came home from the hospital. He was up every 20-40 minutes with what seemed like really significant pain in his belly. The only thing I can pinpoint it to was the bottle I was so proud of giving him. Was something wrong with the milk? Maybe I left it out for too long? Maybe I didn’t burp him well enough? Whatever it was, it caused him great distress. Then, this morning he had a fever over 100.4. I had to cancel my plans today to take him to the doctor. He seems alright now. His temperature is normal and he slept for a great big chunk today, and thankfully, I got a nap too. I’ll never know what really caused his distress, but now that I’ve had some sleep, I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with the bottle. But just in case, I’m not giving another one for a good few days. Please tell me I’m not alone in my frantic irrational behavior. Post yours below!
Photo credit: Nerissa’s ring/Flickr