As I mentioned in the last post I purchased a new kind of bottle on Thursday, a bottle more properly manufactured to Harvey's specifications.
This bottle looks like a boob.
Rebecca, our midwife extraordinaire, also happens to work at the insanely expensive mommy and baby store, and she recommended this insanely expensive bottle as a remedy for the aforementioned biting. Since this nipple widens out like a real booby does, it may lessen Harvey's inclination to bite down when he gets back to the real thing. That is, if the biting is in fact caused by nipple confusion, and not say by a manipulative baby trying to guilt his momma into giving up social engagements for the next nine months.
Anyway, on Friday my mother gave Harvey this new bottle, and he loved it, just LOVED it! Of course, according to my mother Harvey just LOVES baby yoga, the sound of Grandma's voice, and a perpetual chorus of The Wheels on the Bus. Nevertheless, Harvey WAS so soothed by the booby bottle that he fell asleep before ingesting its contents. Even better, there was no biting Friday evening. So either this is a better nipple system, or Harvey has realized over the past few days that the bottle doesn't signify the end of mommy-direct feedings. Still, the victory is bitter-sweet. I mean, I wanted him to take the bottle, but so easily? What does he need mommy for?
Harvey turns 12 weeks old today. To think I've only been a mom for three months makes me feel better about sucking at it. I'm the kind of mother that I never wanted to be: clingy, anxious, frustrated, frazzled. It's been over a year since I last cut my hair. The highest heals I own are Mary Janes. The mascara lives in the diaper bag so that I can apply in the car on the way to church. If Stacy and Clinton from What Not to Wear came running out from behind a bush, I'd be like "Yup, I'll take that abuse-filled shopping spree. Only you're going to need to let me breast feed on camera."