Fun Times Tonight

The title of this post is sarcastic. For some reason, James was really fussy tonight. Even after eating and eating and eating, and getting changed, and getting burped and rocked and changed again, and fed again and again, he continued to fuss and cry no matter what we did. Unless I was actually feeding him, of course, because breastfeeding never gets old for him.

Finally my boobs were killing me and I couldn't deal anymore, and I asked James to take him upstairs and I sat down here listening to him cry for a few minutes. Finally I decided that today was a good day for his very first bottle.

I'm very proud to say that up until tonight, he has breastfed and only breastfed--nothing else has ever gone into his body by any other method. And while I fully intend to never give him formula, and plan on waiting to introduce food until the recommended six months old, I did always intend to start introducing bottles as a way for him to drink the breastmilk that I've pumped and collected . . . so that James could feed him sometimes, and so we could someday go out and have a babysitter . . . I sort of thought I would wait until after the holidays, but apparently James David had other plans.

Because today when I was feeling completely touched out and exhausted and like I needed a good meal and a never-ending drink of water, I just couldn't deal with nursing him anymore. But hey, that's why I've worked so hard to pump that frozen milk, right?

So I went down to our freezer and picked out an ounce and a half of milk saved and frozen from his first week of life, and I brought it upstairs and stood in the kitchen defrosting it in one of our Tommee Tippee bottle, in a hot water bath, over the steamer, and I listened to my poor little son cry continuously as I watched the pot and checked the milk again and again, tapping my foot and standing there beside the stove, mentally pacing.

And finally I brought that little bottle of milk up to James and he said: "I thought you were going to do that." And he popped the bottle in the open maul of our crying baby, who eventually figured out that there was food in there, and proceeded to gulp it down like his life depended on it (which I guess it kind of does).

It was odd watching him eat like that--obviously, I am normally feeding him and looking down at him--it was so funny to see him across from me, in James' arms, eating away.

Of course once he had sucked down the bottle he continued to cry and I had to breastfeed him anyway, but it somehow took the edge off--after only a few minutes of additional feeding his eyes began to droop and he finally fell asleep (because the little tyke was not only hungry but also tired, which added to his misery).

And when he finally was asleep and quiet, James and I just hugged each other like we'd came out on the other side of a natural disaster . . . and that was pretty much what it felt like.

Fun times tonight.