Blergh.
In other news, Kai and I have finally agreed to terms for this whole bottle-feeding thing. Actually, it's less of an agreement and more of a series of decrees made by Kai that I never agreed to, but reluctantly observe because I have little choice. Not unlike the terms imposed on Germany post-WWI. Except I'm not angry. And I don't owe Kai reparations. In any case, the agreement goes something like this:
- There will be no bottle-feeding unless you sing to me.
- Bottle-feeding will not be successful unless you are bouncing, swaying, or rocking.
- I will only open wide when I feel like it.
- I reserve the right to spit milk at you if the mood strikes me.
- The bottle nipple will be chewed on, rolled around in my mouth, and clamped down upon if I so desire.
- Just because I get milk from the bottle doesn't mean I'm going to swallow it.
- The terms of this agreement are by no means final; I may tweak, modify, change, or alter this agreement as often as I like. Especially if I'm cranky.
I do have to say that, on the whole, these terms are not too bad. Kai typically drinks 10-15 ounces of milk per day when Lauren is away. All of his particular wants around feeding are a small price to pay for a happy, well-fed child.
As soon as I have the energy to mount a search for our missing camera, I'll post some more photos/video of Kai in action.
