the mayor of fun

Caroline has had some difficulty latching on for breastfeeding. Usually when Amy gets her in the correct position she just passes out. But who can blame her? A warm boob must be the best pillow ever.

So we’ve been giving her breast milk from a bottle, and she is more than happy to drink it that way. Also, since her doctor has had us keeping track of exactly how much she eats, bottle feeding makes that a lot easier.

After Caroline finally started gaining weight, her doctor suggested that we add a little formula to each bottle to increase her caloric intake. This has had the result of making our kitchen counter look like a chemistry lab. Eventually, to try to simplify things, we put one bottle of formula and the several bottles of breast milk in the fridge when it was bedtime, to be mixed as needed throughout the night.

Parents, you’ve all been there, too. It’s 3 AM. It’s literally painful to be awake, your brain isn’t functioning correctly, and you’re stumbling down the hall with one eye closed as you make your way to the kitchen. That’s the condition I was in the other night when it was time to make Caroline’s bottle. It was also at this point that my brain betrayed me.

I mixed the components for the bottle, warmed it up, and got the nipple attached. It was at this point that I finally realized that whatever I had just mixed in that bottle was orange. I looked in the fridge and saw the orange juice beside the little bottle of formula. I still can’t remember if I mixed orange juice with milk, or if the bottle I made was 100% O.J. Regardless, I should’ve poured it out and started over, but my dysfunctional asshole brain said “Maybe Amy won’t notice.”

So I plodded back down the hall to Caroline’s room, somehow knowing what was about to happen, but unable to stop myself from continuing in that direction. As I handed Amy the bottle of orange liquid and saw the look of bewildered fury, everything finally clicked on.

“I don’t know why it’s orange! I think I put orange juice in it.”

Even then, my damn brain tried to get me to say, “Do you think she can drink it anyway?” But I beat back that statement from actually coming out and said I was going to go start over. Amy told me the next day that she’d wanted to scream, but it was 3 AM and she was as tired as I was, so she and Caroline waited for me to return with a proper bottle.

I wish I could fully remember the chain of events that caused me to make the orange bottle. I guess I never will.