It was inevitable. Well, if I was able to stay home full-time, it wouldn't have been, but since I do have to go to work (a post for another day) it had to happen. Baby E eventually had to get a bottle. I've been putting it off as long as I could. Hubby has been saying to everyone "I haven't even gotten to feed him yet!", though he seems to have known better than to ask me.
With the kid, he always had bottles along with nursing and I feel like that was part of what made me eventually give up when he was 5-6 months old (that and the biting he did - but by that time we were only nursing a couple times a day and sometimes not even that). I have been determined for almost 2 years now that this child would be breastfed, and with much more success and longevity than the kid was. I figure I've nursed baby E somewhere around 500 times (he's 51 days old, approximately 10 feedings/day). He did have bottles in the hospital when I wasn't there, but he hasn't had one since he came home; neither hubby nor I have ever given him one.
I think because I have put so much time, effort, and even money into making breastfeeding this kiddo successful, I've been even more hesitant to do anything that might mess it up. Even though I knew the likelihood of me ever having enough milk to provide even half of what he would need was low, I became rather emotionally attached to the idea that I would be able to give him at least quite a bit of what he needs. So, part of my hesitation (let's be honest, it was more like complete opposition) to baby E having a bottle was that I would have to pump, and come face-to-face with how much milk I was producing. I was afraid that it would be much of anything.
Another thing that was holding me back, was I was afraid that he wouldn't take it. I mean, he kinda hated the pacifier (though grudgingly will take it now, for a few minutes at least - well, he'll take it from someone other than me). Okay, brutal honesty? I was afraid he would take the damn bottle, love it, and never want to nurse again. There. That's it. That was my deepest fear. I was afraid of losing the one thing that only I can do for him. Yeah, yeah. I know. That's not really the case, but it's what my fear has been.
So, what did happen? I knew we needed to do this because I am going back to work in a couple of weeks, and he's gonna have to take the evil bottle from someone. I decided in my head that it would have to happen this weekend. I put it off til today, the end of the weekend, the last possible moment. I finally told hubby that it was time. He looked all gleeful and stuff. I, on the other hand, was near tears. I made the bottle, handed it to hubby, and watched as hubby and the kid gave baby E his first bottle. And baby E, that little traitor, did just what I had been most afraid he'd do - he took it like it was the best thing he'd ever met. And I went off to my bedroom to pump. And to cry.
So, it's not the end of world. Yes, I know. And baby E has nursed successfully several times since the bottle incident. But, I am still sad about it. Really, I wanted him to hate that stupid bottle. I wanted him to scream and throw a big ole fit until I came and nursed him, when he'd just settle right down and sigh with contentment. Life, parenthood, neither ever goes quite as planned. While my head knows that this was good - it's good that baby E will take a bottle, my feelings are a little hurt.
Today's lesson - it's really hard when your baby starts to grow up. And, yes. Baby E taking a bottle is totally him starting to grow up. (insert pouty face here)