I find it more than a little ironic that I had so many issues and hang-ups with nursing Henry that I really gave myself a free pass with Frederick: I said I would give it my best effort but not kill myself with it (that is, no SNS or similar contraptions, no shame / guilt / body let-down spiral, no saving the pacifier to avoid nipple confusion, etc). I even brought a pacifier to the hospital with me. I even purchased new bottles and even bought a whole lotta formula. So wouldn’t you know it that Frederick doesn’t like pacifiers and gags when you put them in, that he gags / refuses any of the four different bottle types that we have, that the most he’s ever taken from a bottle is about 1 ounce. In short, he’s a boob man, and, it would seem, a dyed-in-the-wool mama’s boy. More on my complicated thoughts on that issue some other time. It’s a relief and a burden all at once. All I can say is oh dear. Here comes the ride.
For now, here’s a G-rated photo from one of Frederick’s baths. He seems to tolerate them fairly well. I wouldn’t say he likes them, but he doesn’t dislike them, either. I put the little tub in the kitchen sink and the sun shines through the window. It’s so idyllic, if you don’t count the piles of dirty dishes that are just out of camera range.
The sleeping has been hit or miss. Last night I literally lost count of how many times I was up with him, mostly nursing him for comfort, it seemed. I think he had some tummy discomfort, though, so here’s hoping for a more restful night tonight! And that Henry sleeps past 5:45 am.