"Suttie, put down the Dr. Brown's"

A lot of kids have a security blanket or teddy bear that they cuddle as they’re going to sleep. These objects help them to feel safe and comforted wherever they are. It’s cute – think Linus in the Peanuts cartoons. And, then there’s my son, whose chosen security object is not soft and plush or cute and cuddly. No, the thing that he snuggles up to as he drifts off to sleep is hard and plastic with a silicone nipple on one end and ounce markers on the other. Yes, my son now has a security bottle. Or I guess I should say bottles because it doesn’t matter which one I give him as long as one’s there.

It all started when we happily discovered that Suttie can now hold his own bottle. This was a great thing because, instead of bending over his crib to feed him before naps and bedtime, we could just hand the job over to him and take care of other fun things like emptying the diaper genie or gathering up dirty clothes. And, yes, I do miss the days when I had to feed him because his tiny hands could barely get around my finger, much less an 8 oz. bottle. But he hasn’t let me cradle him for some time, so feeding has become more of a task than a bonding opportunity.

However, when Suttie finishes the bottle, I dare not take it away. I tried that the first night. He was just gliding into a soundless sleep when he sucked in the last tiny remnants of milk. I put in his pacifier and lightly tugged at the bottle to take it downstairs. That was a mistake. His eyes, which had been previously closed, snapped open, and he began to howl and yell in such a loud, obnoxious way that I’m sure they heard him at Super Griners, some three miles down the road. I immediately did the only thing that I could think of, which was to give him back the bottle. As soon as the plastic cylinder hit his hands, he fell silent. He examined the bottle for a few minutes, turning it over to look at it from all angles. Then, he tucked it underneath his arm and rolled over into his normal side-lying sleeping position, quiet as a lamb. Later in the night, I snuck back up and retrieved the bottle for washing, fully prepared to insert a decoy in its place. But I didn’t need to; by that time, he was comfortable and tired enough that he was willing to let it go.

So, do I find it odd that my child prefers a bottle to a bear? No. If you’ve seen him, you wouldn’t expect anything different. Am I willing to let this strange attachment continue? Yes, because whether it’s a blanket or a bear or a plastic Dr. Brown’s bottle, kids need something to hold on to, in every sense. I’m just happy that I’m wise enough to know that it can’t always be me.

Lights out on Cell Block D

Well, we all survived Suttie’s first Halloween (he and the dog were both bumblebees….terrifying, I know). This year we only had to visit the grandparents, and his loot consisted of a toy drum, a pair of shoes, and some baby food. Besides getting Suttie and the dog to sit still long enough to take a decent picture, it was a pretty painless process. However, I imagine it gets harder as they get older and start to struggle against the child leash.

So now we’re looking toward Thanksgiving, a day when Suttie will taste a substance that will become the apex of his food pyramid—gravy. “Why hasn’t he had the chance to try gravy yet?” you ask. Well, because the last meal that I cooked involved frozen Texas toast with pepperonis placed on top. I called it “open-faced pizzas,” but then quickly renamed it “Texas tizzas” when I realized that all pizzas are open-faced. I have made a vow that, when Suttie starts eating real food, not the tasteless puree that currently rules his diet, I will cook real meals. Until then, we have cheese dip for dinner one night a week, and I have no problem with that.

And beyond Thanksgiving is, of course, Christmas…a time of merriment, generosity, and baby cages. I have already picked out the plastic prison that will be my son’s home through the new year. It’s an early Christmas present to myself and is guaranteed to keep him away from the decorations, the tree, and the presents. And before you call DHR, it’s from Babies R’ Us, so it’s 100% socially acceptable. Now, I found this step necessary since my child has started to crawl (in his own awkward way). At first, he didn’t go far because, let’s face it, he’s a big kid and he tires quickly. But now, the amount of ground that he can cover with that gimped-up army crawl is truly alarming. The dog’s threat level went from yellow to orange in a matter of days. So, when you see our Christmas pictures and Suttie is opening his gifts from the inside of a 5x5 corral, don’t judge. You can thank me later for the fact that your present was intact and slobber free.