Benjamin’s a champion breast-feeder. That, in and of itself, is a massive gift. And a curse.
See, Oliver was not a champion breast-feeder. In fact, he would rather have starved. He would scream like a banshee every time he was offered the boob (JoAnne’s, not mine). So, JoAnne (and I) prayed that our second would, at the very least, not scream when offered the boob (again, JoAnne’s, not mine).
Well, our prayers were more than answered. Benjamin, as I had said, is a champion breast-feeder. He’s so good, in fact, that he scoffs at the mere thought of being offered milk in, say, a bottle. He takes the nipple (the bottle’s, not JoAnne’s nor mine) into his mouth, let’s it loll about in there, smiles and coos, and that’s about it. No sucking. No attempt at trying to imbibe nourishment. Nothing. This is the curse part, in case you were wondering.
JoAnne’s eventually going back to work, so Benjamin’s got to learn to take a bottle. The pressure was on. I tried. Oliver’s (and soon to be Benjamin’s) Nanny, Theresa, tried. Heck, even JoAnne tried. All for naught.
That was till today. I finally had success (S.U.C.C.E.S.S.!!!) with getting our bub to take a full feed from the bottle. In fact, I did such a good job that he fell asleep eating! The proof, as they say, is in eating the pudding (or drinking the milk, in this case):
So now, everyone can Keep Calm & Carry On…