I simply refuse to enter into any debates as to whether or for how long breastfeeding (as opposed to formula, or in this case, breast milk in a bottle) should be done. You feed your kid how you like and I’ll do the same with mine, and eighteen years from now we’ll compare SAT scores and broad jumps, ok?
There. Onto the post. Ellie has in all matters related to food been an easier child than old JP. No trouble with latching, no cajoling to eat, and now, as we’ve learned in the past week or so, no trouble with the bottle.
Tomoko, who in her great mercy, has not been asking me to wake up with her in what I like to call “sympathy suffering” while she feeds Ellie in the middle of the night. But I did volunteer, after about a month, to do some bottle feeding in the middle of the night. This helps Tomoko get more sleep, and it also helps prepare for the day when she goes back to work and I will be providing at least as much if not more care as she does.
I want that kid used to eating with me for the nights I have to put her down. JP didn’t touch a bottle until his mother’s maternity leave was over and I began putting him down every weeknight. It sucked, no pun intended. It was a crash-course in baby feeding for me, and neither me nor JP benefited from it.
All that said, Ellie’s love of the bottle (it’s faster than the boob) has had the negative effect of making me a zombie at work. For those female readers of DadWagon who are currently rolling their eyes (or worse), I get it–it’s worse for you. But doesn’t mean I’m not tired.