For any parent who has had the unfortunate experience of singing mindless nursery rhymes to try and calm a bored child, you may recognise the paraphrasing of the popular “10 Green Bottles” lyrical masterpiece. This actually describes the state of our house this week.
I have been lucky enough to be able to breastfeed Gubbins, but from an early age I wanted to get him in to a routine where he had a bottle a day, to give me a break and to give SO an opportunity to bond with his son over a drink. After an enthusiastic reception of the bottle at around 3 months, we made the foolish mistake of thinking we had cracked the bottle thing with G. Then followed a number of weeks when our discipline faded. My desire to express and SO’s ability to plan ahead with formula became nonexistent.
If only we had known the pit we were falling in to. Having decided (again) recently that I need to feel a bit more like a free agent (and less guilty when I partake in a lovely bottle of red wine), I have become obsessed with the idea of Gubbins taking the bottle. But now that he is older (and questionably wiser), he has decided that the bottle is one item that he will NOT have in his mouth. Strangely, every OTHER item that comes within his grasp, finds itself on a direct trajectory into his curious gob.
I have procured every shape and size of bottle and texture of teat – enough bottles to open a baby bar and enough flavours of formula to create a complementary menu. But obviously none of these are as wonderful and tasty as mum’s homegrown brew.
As a result, we have multiple failed attempts lying around the house, reminders of my failed attempts at keeping the house spotless. I don’t really know what to do, except to follow the *helpful* advice: “just keep trying”.
In the mean-time, if one green bottle (of gin) should accidentally fall (into mummy’s mouth)….