He’s A Boob Man

“Does he ever cry?” One of the childcare staff at the gym asked me the other day as she held H.

If you would have told me after my first and second born that someone would be asking me this question, I would have fallen over laughing.

“I’ll bring a bottle in for proof!”

Yep. That’s right, peepsies. The sure fire way to send Harrison into hysterics, is to attempt to rock a bottle at mealtime. This little noodle nugget took a bottle from the time he got to start eating to his half birthday. There was not one day in between where he did not drink at least one meal, and at times was supplemented following every single feeding, from a bottle.

Enter thrush.

Exit bottle taking.

Since having thrush, Harrison has taken 2 bottles. Over a 7 week period. This means that his only sips are from mama’s nips. He’s not moved by anything but the milkers. This babe, is a boob man.

Drat.

This is not where I thought we’d be at almost 8 months. I thought we’d be dipping deep into the stash of over 1500 ounces that is monopolizing my upright and deep freezer. I hoped I’d have the freedom to have a sitter stand-in so I could go walk around Target by myself or skip through fields of lavender. But instead we’re scheduling childcare only around bedtime and profusely apologizing to the small pool of people who we trust to be with him since he won’t eat in my absence. Because it’s not just won’t take a bottle and falls softly to sleep… No, no. We’re talking red-faced-I-want-the-boobs-so-I-will-make-your-life-miserable screaming.

We’ve tried a few different bottles. Even a $13 Cadillac of bottles brand.

We’ve tried a sippy cup. We’ve tried thawed frozen milk and milk du jour. Walking around. Sitting down. Drowsy feeds. Awake feeds. Different holds. And so on. He will not take it in the sun. He will not take it on the run. He will not take it here or there. He will not take it anywhere.

Of the two times he has taken one, one was from me. So you know, that’s helpful. Because that doesn’t remove me from the equation. I swear though, y’all, for once, I’m not even bemoaning that I’m still the Breastaurant. I just wish the kid would opt for take-out every now and then. So mama wouldn’t feel quite so tied down by the ta-tas.

So you tell me, mamas, papas, sitters, and bottle connoisseurs… What’s the best way to get a boob man to bottle it up? I want this little guy to guzzle like a champ, once again!

Before we know it, we’ll be weaning again. And I am completely certain that someday, Harrison will kill me for this post, and I will have the last laugh. But for now, he’s the one laughing at me all the way to the milk bank.