Lynne went out with one of her pals today and left me holding the baby. We were well prepared, there was a pot of soup on the hob for me for the baby there was a bottle in the fridge with 130ml of breast milk, painstakingly collected by Lynne over the previous 24 hours, and in case of emergency, a pack of ready-to-use Aptamil formula.
Everything was ready. Lynne went out. Then the baby started crying. A-ha, I thought. Bottle time. I heated it up in a cup of warm water and put the teat to the baby’s lips.
Still she cried, chewing the rubber nipple listlessly and dribbling down her chin. Jesus Christ, I thought, she can’t have forgotten how to feed from a bottle already. It’s only been two weeks! I rocked her for a little to calm her down then tried the bottle again. This time the volume of her cries did not reduce when I took the bottle away.
I put on Paul Simon. By now the child has ruined that album for me, but if it works… It didn’t. The baby showed no sign of noticing and I was now being assailed by irritating noise from multiple sources. I now found myself getting really angry. The baby had feed from a bottle before. She was definitely hungry, pushing her bottom lip out with her tongue. So why wouldn’t she eat? The milk was there, drink it!
I vented my frustration by blowing a raspberry on the baby’s cheek. She fucking hates that.
Too right. Her already ruddy cheeks deepened in colour and, since her little lungs were already crying to capacity, her wailing wound up into a hoarse croak. I immediately felt incredibly guilty.
Here is an important lesson. You will never be able to soothe a crying baby if you are getting annoyed yourself. I put her down in her cot and set her creepy mobile going and stepped back. The angry colour drained from her cheeks and, after whimpering for a bit, she fell asleep.
I had hoped that that would be that, since when she sleeps it is often like pressing the reset button on her mood, but I was mistaken. She was still hungry, but the slightest touch of the bottle to her lips was enough to prompt the most piteous crying. I gave up trying, and just bounced the baby in my arms until Lynne returned.
My daughter was quite happy for Lynne to feed her. Lynne apologised for leaving her with me, but this annoyed me even more. The baby has been happy to be left with me before. I’m her dad, I don’t need an apology. I went out for a pint. As I put my jacket on and headed for the door the baby watched me accusingly with tearful eyes. I pointed at the bottle of breast milk that Lynne had sweated to accumulate, now wasted. ‘You’re fucking drinking that!’ I called out. ‘I’m coming back in here!’
Lynne laughed. The baby gave me a dirty look.
Everything was ready. Lynne went out. Then the baby started crying. A-ha, I thought. Bottle time. I heated it up in a cup of warm water and put the teat to the baby’s lips.
Still she cried, chewing the rubber nipple listlessly and dribbling down her chin. Jesus Christ, I thought, she can’t have forgotten how to feed from a bottle already. It’s only been two weeks! I rocked her for a little to calm her down then tried the bottle again. This time the volume of her cries did not reduce when I took the bottle away.
I put on Paul Simon. By now the child has ruined that album for me, but if it works… It didn’t. The baby showed no sign of noticing and I was now being assailed by irritating noise from multiple sources. I now found myself getting really angry. The baby had feed from a bottle before. She was definitely hungry, pushing her bottom lip out with her tongue. So why wouldn’t she eat? The milk was there, drink it!
I vented my frustration by blowing a raspberry on the baby’s cheek. She fucking hates that.
Too right. Her already ruddy cheeks deepened in colour and, since her little lungs were already crying to capacity, her wailing wound up into a hoarse croak. I immediately felt incredibly guilty.
Here is an important lesson. You will never be able to soothe a crying baby if you are getting annoyed yourself. I put her down in her cot and set her creepy mobile going and stepped back. The angry colour drained from her cheeks and, after whimpering for a bit, she fell asleep.
I had hoped that that would be that, since when she sleeps it is often like pressing the reset button on her mood, but I was mistaken. She was still hungry, but the slightest touch of the bottle to her lips was enough to prompt the most piteous crying. I gave up trying, and just bounced the baby in my arms until Lynne returned.
My daughter was quite happy for Lynne to feed her. Lynne apologised for leaving her with me, but this annoyed me even more. The baby has been happy to be left with me before. I’m her dad, I don’t need an apology. I went out for a pint. As I put my jacket on and headed for the door the baby watched me accusingly with tearful eyes. I pointed at the bottle of breast milk that Lynne had sweated to accumulate, now wasted. ‘You’re fucking drinking that!’ I called out. ‘I’m coming back in here!’
Lynne laughed. The baby gave me a dirty look.
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