Reason #1,532 I lurve breastfeeding: I don’t worry about how much or how often he eats. He’s hungry? Bust out le boob. He’s full? Put it away. I sometimes forget that last part now, leading to a few awkward moments I’d rather not relive.
Go ahead, ask me when he last ate over the weekend. I couldn’t tell you because it doesn’t disrupt our routine or what’s happening at the time. There’s no stopping what I’m doing to get up, make a bottle, heat a bottle, and give the bottle. All I do is unsnap his lunchbox and boom! the screeching stops. That’s power, my friends.
I’m realizing now the biggest benefit isn’t that breastfeeding melds seamlessly in to my lazy lifestyle but that it defies my nuerotic need to know and control everything about Andrew. (I am at once a control freak and a sloth. Quite the pretty package, no?)
Just now I spoke to my mom who’s keeping him at home today because of his nasty little cold. She reports that he’s only taken two ounces since I left at 7:00 this morning. He’s done this before, refusing to eat much from the bottle, and it freaks his mommy out. He’s tipping the scale at 15.6 lbs as of Saturday so he’s certainly not in danger of being carried away with the next stiff breeze, but still I’d like to see him take down a decent meal. Mom says he’s in good spirits but he just doesn’t want to eat.
BIG MISTAKE. Typing this reminded me that at daycare they sit him in the bouncer to eat and that’s the only way he’ll take a bottle there. I called mom to tell her and I can hear him crying like a crazy person. All he wants is his Mommy and all I want is to be home taking care of him.