I had planned on weaning my son from the bottle roughly around the time of my death. I took a bottle until I was 2.5, and my husband thinks he may have had one until he was 4. We are both fine–why wouldn’t we be? What magic wand waved on our first birthdays made one of his and my favorite activities suddenly harmful?
I loved his bottle. He loved his bottle. He liked to fondle it while muttering it’s name (Baba, obviously). He like to talk about it, stroke it, and think about it. I loved when he cuddled in my arms, waking up for the morning or from a nap in a half-dazed state with the bottle in his mouth. I love the snuggling and the closeness, the mutual bliss. Stroking his hair and face as he eats, his look of utter contentment, the smell of the coconut milk and almond milk blend we use now that he’s outgrown the worst smelling hypoallergenic formula ever–I loved all of it.
I was talking to another mom during daycare pickup a few weeks ago and we agreed we were going to keep our kids on the bottle as long as possible. We’d both given up breastfeeding after our maternity leaves (I had to go on a medicine that rendered my meager breastmilk risky) and we didn’t see breastfeeding mothers being forced to end THEIR nutritious cuddling. It was terrible enough that we had to stop breastfeeding–now just because our kids were over 1, we were going to have to stop bottle feeding too? The pediatrician said it was bad for his teeth–but we brushed his teeth, how bad could it be? Read the rest of this entry →