, , , ,

My Tiny Little is on a bottle protest. Again.

When this Little was a teeny tiny Little, she would fight the bottles like a maniac because all she really wanted was her boob juice straight from the source. She was such a champion fighter of all bottles that we eventually dubbed her mother The Boob and the nickname has stuck.

Poor woman, she’ll forever be The Boob in my mind. I once almost wrote Boob on her payment receipt. I bet the IRS would have flagged me for an audit in 0.5 seconds. But I digress.

The Little and I had a good four-month run where she would finally accept the bottle while in daycare. And then today happened. I knew it was coming; for several days the Little has been protesting the bottle. And she’s now old enough to know that The Boob comes back every single day.

We are on hour 8. Littles are not designed to go 8 hours without eating, at least not while awake. This is the equivalent of my not eating for an entire 24 hours.

And let me tell you, that’s never happened in the history of my life.

Every single time she sees the bottle she crawls over to it. Then it hits her lips and she reacts like I poured acid in her mouth. At one point she spit her milk out straight into my face. And now I know what The Boob’s juice tastes like and I want to stir my brain with a shank to forget. 

I managed to get the Little to take a nap, but judging by the first 25 minutes of it so far, this nap is a waste. Her hunger is not going to let her sleep peacefully.

The biggest travesty of the day is yet to come…

The Boob is not picking the Little up today. She got stuck at work and dad is in the hot seat. I’d laugh but I’m too tired to contemplate the trials that await him.