Happy Friday all. Just a few quick pictures that, I think, capture the week we’ve just been through.
Ruthie is usually happy to get up in the morning, and once her eyes adjust to the light, is all smiles:
I would too if I woke at seven every morning only to feed and hang out for an hour before going back down for another two hours.
But it hasn’t been all smiles. In fact, there’s been quite a bit of this too:
And I’m such a good dad that I just had to stop and get a picture of it. That usually happens in the afternoon, right around Loren’s nap (my old saving grace, peaceful dada time is no longer). She’s hungry, hasn’t had a real boob since the early morning, has napped plenty and simply no longer knows what she wants (and I’m equally lost on that front).
But there is progress on the bottle front. We’ve reached a point where I’ve at least convinced Ruthie that the bottle is not, in fact, poison – which is how she initially responded to it. At the end of week one, she’ll actually take somewhere between a half-ounce and an ounce without a fight.
Of course, it usually seems like half of it comes spilling back out of her mouth. The wet and poopy diapers keep coming, so that means something must be making its way down. After that first ounce or so we are back at square one, trying anything to get the rest in or taking a long break until she cools down and remembers that she is hungry again.
It’s going well enough though. I still feel like a human being, and I even have a little leftover at night to listen to these gut-wrenching baseball games on the radio. And now for the merciful weekends, and the likelihood that for at least two and a half days, Ruthie will get what she wants on an almost uninterrupted basis: her mama.