If it ain’t broke…
So, you know how there’s a phrase about "in Texas, you don’t mess with a man’s boots" or is it beltbuckle, or Stetson? Anyway, the idea is that there are just some things you don’t MESS with unless you want to rustle up some trouble. Well, in the land of infants- that thing would be their bottles. Babies will sleep sitting up, slumped over with a strap digging into their neck. Babies will will chew enthusiastically on a dog toy or a magazine or the edge of the carpet. They will happily crawl around in whatever they have on- be it a diaper or a dress or whatever outfit you pulled out of the drawer. Babies will gamely eat crispy crackers, floppy noodles, or a delicious mix of whole milk yogurt and pureed green beans.
But, say you decide to change their bottle- and more importantly the nipple on said bottle without any kind of notice. Well, that would be a parent gunning for a world of hurt first thing in the morning.
The Perfect Storm
Why, would perfectly sane (mostly, anyway), rational parents do a thing like this? Sure- there is the whole BPA controversy. That was not enough to motivate us. Then there is the multiple complicated parts in the type of bottle that we started out with. Dr. Brown bottles need a schematic to put them together correctly the first time. Still not enough. But create the pefect storm of motivation by taking BPA bottles and making them *exchangeable* for non-BPA bottles, add in the fact that we could change to a bottle with fewer parts (i.e. less washing!), and then make the whole thing free- no receipt, no packaging, no nothing required for the exchange- and it’s enough to motivate a woman to leave the house at 8pm to drive up to Babies r’ us (which I normally avoid like the plague) on a work night.
Led astray by bright, shiny objects
So, there were multiple choices in the bottle aisle- including bottles with an equal number of parts, bottles with more parts, bottles that were more expensive, and then there were the Nubys. Shiny, bright, BPA free, cheaper, fewer parts, and with "no drip" nipples (should have been my first clue)- it seemed perfect. I shleped up to the "guest service" counter with my dozen bottles in pretty colors, with a fun "ergonomic" shape. I was thinking of clever I was. Once home, Tony and I blithely made up the new bottles, marveling at the quick way they went together and the larger size. In the morning, like babes in the woods, we pulled them out of the fridge, popped them in the girl’s mouths and served ourselves a whole platter full of crying babies.
Sofia in particular, made it clear that we were BAD PARENTS, unfit to continue in our roles as her relatives. She wailed, glared, swatted at the bottles, arched her back, kicked her tiny feet, and shed copious tears. It was pretty awful. Fortunately, I had tossed some of our old bottles in the recycle bin, so I retrived those and miracle of miracles, the old nipples fit the new bottles. Praise the lord of oversized belt buckles, snakeskin boots, and mostly importantly baby bottle nipples.
Here comes the Sun
The clouds parted (one wishes, but it actually continued to rain), the seas quieted, and the babies were calmed from raging torrents to babbling brooks.
Audrey had remained stoic and mildly opposed to the nipple change throughout the morning, so she was much easier to calm. Sofia, having exerted herself mightly in her righteous cause, rubbed her eyes as she ate and fell asleep in the car on the way to daycare.
We’re so lucky that babies are a forgiving, generous bunch. By the time we dropped them into the waiting arms of their teach, the wonderful Miss Alla, they were smiling and happy- and completely over the fact that we had messed with that most sacred of all domains- the baby bottle.
Note to self- there are just some things you don’t mess with.