We’ve had to organize a boob intervention. Our youngest boy, Joel, won’t give up the breast and it’s been hell for pretty much the whole family. He doesn’t sleep through the night, which means Jac doesn’t sleep, which means I wake up to the Cranky House of Horrors. Every day a new sequel. Today showing – Cranky House of Horrors 9: The Revenge of the Fat Milk Sucking Baby.
Hence the boob intervention.
We’ve read the books, talked to the right people, mingled with the breast-knowing crowd. Apparently you just feed him from a bottle instead.
– No more boobie for you young squire, here’s a cold plastic bottle with water and fake milk powder instead. Mmmm, eat it. Do it. Do it. DOOOOOO IT!
Do you think he did? I know I wouldn’t. So yesterday we decided it was time for some real firmness. No more sequels to this franchise of craptastic horror movies, not even straight to dvd. Let’s finish this sucker! Literally.
Starting yesterday morning we refused to feed him anything else than the bottle. Joel decided that sure, fine, you try and play that game, I’ll just hold out. So he did. All day and all night. He didn’t eat anything. By dinner time he was angry, hungry and tired – a lethal combo. I was stuck with trying to settle him since he apparently can smell the breast milk if Jacqui does it. That milk sounds worse than any crack in the world to me.
Operation Pat the Bub commenced at 1900 hours last night.
The plan of attack was simple. Baby wakes up. Try to feed him from the bottle. If that doesn’t work, put him to sleep by patting his bottom. So I did that. Every 30 minutes or so he’d wake up more pissed than before. But we stuck to the plan. We had to. At 3 am (that’s 0300 hours to you, staff sergeant), he finally took the bottle. Jac and Noah was in another room so this victory was celebrated by a tired dad in the dark. An hour later Joel woke up again, wanting the breast. He was fed, but still wanted a boob fix. I hear you, son, but nuh-uh, no more. So sergeant Patty Pat has been working all night, man, he’s been busy.
But we made it.
Jac came in and picked him up earlier. Fed him some Farex and baby yoghurt. He ate it all. She said she’d never seen anything like it. It was like watching Kirstie Alley at an all you can eat Pig-a-thon.
He’s asleep now. For the first time in 24 hours I can hear him happily snoozing away in the cot next to me.
Five minutes ago, my other boy, Noah walked in. He had drawn something for me. He said it was me and I wasn’t going to argue. He leaned in and hugged me hard.
– Happy Father’s Day, Pappa!
Indeed it is, son, indeed it is, I though to myself.
In fact, every day is.