Sometimes It Swings Back

My two year old still drinks bottles. No, wait. Let me be honest. My nearly two AND A HALF year old still drinks bottles. She loves them. Little whole milk filled vessels best served "COLDIE!" and often. The little darling likes juice out of cups, chocolate milk out of cartons and water out of anything. But for my Margaret, nothing, not anything, comes close to a Dr. Brown full of the white stuff. As any pediatrician, (or "helpful" mother), will tell you, a two year old is far too old to be enjoying the infantile excess of bottle sucking. It.Is.Simply.Not.Done. Up until recently, I have not cared about the opinions of the learned. And by not care, I mean I have lied.

Last doctors visit with Margaret:

Doctor: And I assume that she is completely off the bottle, right? And has been for some time?

Me: Oh! The bottle? Been off it so long she can't remember what one looks like.

Cue my eyes following his. Which are looking into my open diaper bag. At a bottle. Brimming with milk. Ummm. Maybe he thought it was mine?

Baby Viola will be here by next Tuesday. Margaret will be a big sister. It occured to me that maybe big sisters shouldn't be so, ahm, nipple dependent. Time for some growing up. Last Friday was the day. The day Margaret would become too big for the bottle. I had all her favorite drinks on hand. Kept her busy through her normal morning bottle and seemed to be moving beautifully past the nap milk fix. Really. It was amazing. Margaret was amazing. I, let's face it, was amazing.

And then she asked for the bottle. You know, five hundred times. And then the tears. I was, at this point, still amazing. So I pulled her into my arms and explained that she was such a big girl. And big girls don't need bottles. And I knew that change is hard. And I was so proud of her for being so brave. Come on, this was really classic, parenting-by-numbers goodness.

Her big blue eyes were just liquid with the betrayal of it all. And then, a light! OH MOMMY! I WILL FIND IT! YOU STAY! I'LL FIND BOTTLE! The next fifteen minutes the house rang with her little voice, BOTTLE! BOTTLE! WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU IN HERE? BOTTLE, I'LL FIND YOU!

I had a milk filled Dr. Brown in the fridge. A just in case of emergency fix. She must have seen the Vitamin D weakness in my eyes.


She triumphantly threw the fridge door thrown open, it swung wide as she squealed, I FOUND IT! GOOD GIRL! I FOUND IT!

And then. THWACK. That old door just kept right on swinging back to where it belonged, pinning my two foot addict and her fix right against the wall. The crying was pathetic. It was a hard lesson. Sometimes what we want is out of reach. Sometimes people tell us no. So we persevere and think creatively and don't give up. And then finally, finally we get what we always wanted. Only to be squished up against the wall.

I peeled my little girl and her found treasure out from the between the beadboard and the pickles. Turned on Wonderpets and set up her up with her hard earned prize.

So my two and a half year old still drinks bottles. And my paint-by-numbers parenting is not really all that awesome. Not that the latter comes much as a surprise.

We spend our whole lives growing up. It is lovely and painful and full of doors that swing right back.

I suppose one more week of bottles can't hurt.