So it is bedtime for the girls. I am just finished giving Annalie her final bottle for the next couple of hours and a couple of things come to me. First, Annalie now associates the bottle with food so when she sees it she, reaches out for it. Watching her reach for the bottle is hilarious. You know how they have those coin operated cranes in bars? The one where you drop a grapple hook onto a stuffed toy and make a futile attempt to pick it up and drag it to the corner where it will then be yours? Imagine your drunk friend doing this, trying to operate that silly little crane with his alcohol blinded judgement impairing his ability to coordinate a machine that is difficult to operate at the best of times. That is Annalie grabbing for her bottle.
Next is the irony of this situation. One thing I hate the smell of is milk. I drink my coffee black so that I never have to have a travel cup with the least hint of a smell of milk. I use soy milk on my cereal. And I hate the smell of milk. And yet my life is filled with milk. My partners breasts? Now a sacred place reserved for the babies to feast on milk. There are milk bottles on every table in the house and the fridge is filled with breats milk, formula milk and combinations of the two. There is a rotation of how they are to be used, cleaned and refilled. It is all about milk. And babies burping up partially digested milk and puking up milk and spitting up milk. Milk. The sustenance they thrive on.
And one last thing about milk, we are soon going to have to sit down and decide on which brand of milk will be the brand that our wee’uns are going to be raised on. In the old days there were Carnation babies. What will ours be? More later.
For now I have to try and convince a baby with flailing arms and legs that it is actually a good time to sleep. Good night for now.