It's 5am ish and I have just done a feed...feel inspired to blog about it and feel creative...bear with me:
It started with a grizzle about 30 minutes ago...I stirred.
The grizzle escalated slowly, and yet fast. Like lightening really.
He was hungry. I positioned him on my knee facing me which is very comfortable for us both, grabbed the correct bottle and aimed it his mouth.
He either finds the next bit hard or amusing but he then moves his mouth to get to the bottle and misses completely. Very zen...very funny. If he just stayed still the bottle would meet his mouth...oh no...too simple...oh well.
Finally teat meets tounge and we avoid hearing a 'full lung'.
Two minutes of silence bar some heavy breathing and slurping. Story of my life eh?
Oh no, Daddy forgot to attach the bib. Bottle withdrawn. SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM.
Almost like he is being murdered...as if withdrawing the bottle to attach his bib is a crime against humanity. Am convinced social services will come swinging in through the windows at any moment like Tom Cruise in Minority Report.
Bib attached. Bottle re-offered. Mouth whizzing about in every direction but the right one. Eventually bottle docks with mouth. Silence. Milk is his drug and I am his dealer.
Slumber mixes with gluttony (is that a baby thing or a genetic thing?). Towards the end he is almost sleep-feeding (what a great idea eh?).
He relaxes. I burp him...so love his burbs and farts...crack me up. I place him gently on the bed to see if he is off to slumberly-wumberly land. Maybe. Could it be? Is he off? WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Nope. Legs moving about. Possibly a poo?
Pick him up. Wind some more. Few drops more of milk. And finally, to sleep, perchance to dream.