Nibbles loves to feed – breastmilk, formula, colorful t-shirts, singing green turtles – anything that happens to venture near his eager mouth. “Bottles and pacifiers in the early weeks leads to Nipple Confusion”, cautioned the experts. They ought to have told Nibbles that as he effortlessly switched between skin, rubber and any milk-providing orifice.
So it is not without reason that I totally coredumped when he refused the breast for the first time today. I stared accusingly at the rejected boob (that just lost its right to be called a breast) – was the supply too low? flow too fast? did it smell funny? taste odd? The boob, still grappling with its recent role change from foreplay diva to milk factory, was rather offended and responded with an indignant squirt.
I did my usual 24 hour review of diet and wet+soiled diapers. I knew I shouldn’t have had that dollop of mango pickle last night. Could that nth cup of coffee be the culprit? In the meantime, Nibbles had become inconsolable and his face had turned a frightful purple. This must be the dreaded ear infection! He can’t be teething at 3 months? Maybe his stomach…gaaah!
Googling desperately after an unsuccessful attempt at reaching the pediatrician, it hit me. Nibbles has found out that I will be returning to work on friday. Deserting him. Betraying him. Failing him. And this is his not-so-silent way of protesting. I must be a heartless, selfish mother – wait – can I still call myself one when I am unable to feed my child? Defeated, I reached for the evil bottle and tried to suppress my jealousy as Nibbles sucked peacefully.
After six miserably long hours, Nibbles has decided to patch up with the boob. Just like that. I’ll never quite know what soured things up between them. In any case, I’ve never been happier to have only one free hand to bf and blog.