So Chris is bottle-feeding little V for her one o’clock feeding. We are preparing for the hand-off. Bottle feeding gives him bonding time and begins to allieve my fears that my mammaries are starving the child. She’s so little and stringy, and bottles are so conveniently marked with quantities. He feeds her a huge bottle of milk from the frozen stash I’ve been collecting for the purpose.
When he was done he asked “Where should I put her?”
I usually want to start yelling at him when he asks me things like that because, after all, he is going to be taking care of her all by himself in very very few days and why can’t he figure it out on his own?
But then again, probably the reason he feels the need to ask is because I would tell him “She likes being over HERE, not THERE where you in your ignorance put her.” And who likes to hear that? so he asks. And I bite my tongue and say “Maybe she would like to sit in her chair.”
She often likes to sit in her chair.
I was finishing reading a webpage when Chris said with alarm “Baby! Come here! She just spit up a bunch.”
Of course my first thought was “Babies Do that and why can’t you handle something so ordinary?” He is after all going to be taking care of her ALONE without me to yell for in a very short time.
He kept calling, “It’s really a lot. I think she threw up the whole bottle.”
So I got up and went to see. She seemed happy, biting her bottom look and staring at Daddy with a wrinkled forehead.
“You didn’t see it!”
Then I saw her clothes were all wet, so I picked her up to go change her, still thinking ‘you’re going to have to do this all by yourself soon!’ and then I realized her chair had a puddle underneath her. And dining table chair beneath her chair had a puddle. And so did the floor.
So I guess changing the baby was the easy part. Chris had to clean up all the milky spit up, making sure the dog (dogs can be disgusting) didn’t get there first. He also dismantled Veronica’s chair and ran it through the laundry.
Because it really WAS that much, and because I am still worried that I am starving my child with the primitive non-measurable mammary method, I thawed some more milk and fed her again. Now she’s stuffed and sleeping to her goodnight CD–Harry Belafonte singing “Jamaican Farewell”