Madelena, not a lover of order, let us know if was time to put the kybosh on bottles in her own unique way: she began twisting off the tops, flinging the nipple across the room and sprinkling water on every inch of the crib, perhaps while chanting in Latin and waving some incense. This would happen at 2am and again at 4am, and in the beginning operations were more covert and made to resemble bottle malfunctions versus operator-induced failures. One night I changed her crib twice, only to hand her another bottle of water and watch as she used all of her strength to unscrew the collar and rip the nipple off at 2am. Buh bye bottle, hello wails of loss and grief.
Since then we have battled nightly with bedtime requests for the bottle, usually made wordlessly by flinging the offensive sippy cup from her crib and towards the nearest head. She can not stand the sight of it, and is happier to see it disappear than to know that the water she once so eagerly drank at night has been put into such an unsightly and unwanted vessel. At 11pm, 2am and 4am she wakes herself up and renews her demands for a pacha, angry with her defiant parents and insisting on making them pay through aural assault. Bad mama that I am, I have finally taken to turning off the baby monitor, sure I will hear her yells without any electronic assistance and amplification.
Last night she went to bed easily after, of course, tossing the sippy cup to the floor and pinning the panda down with extreme force. I left her there as she sang to her panda, learned how to knock on the wall and incorporated "ee-i-ee-i-ooooh" into a number of other songs. I went to the gym, came home and watched my DVR'd show, and collapsed into bed.
I awoke this morning refreshed, trying to remember why it was I slept so well. The lack of haziness assured me it was not an Ambien-induced sleep, Shawn Joaquin was already bouncing on the other side of the bed, eliminating some carbon-monoxide aided sleep. And then I realized that not once had I been summoned by Madelena during the night, and had in fact slept nearly 8 hours virtually undisturbed.
Most mothers would be relieved and singing kumbaya. My first thought was HOLY CRAP, SHE'S BEEN KIDNAPPED.
I'm happy to report that she is here and well, and we may have overcome the battle of the bottle. Only time and the bags under my eyes will tell, and should we have another skirmish I have decided that I am not beyond tapping into my own bottle to aid sleep, be it a lovely Jekel Reisling or that bottle of Ambien that beckons so sweetly from my bedside. Fingers crossed and Cirque Lodge on speed dial, I bid you all good night.
Since then we have battled nightly with bedtime requests for the bottle, usually made wordlessly by flinging the offensive sippy cup from her crib and towards the nearest head. She can not stand the sight of it, and is happier to see it disappear than to know that the water she once so eagerly drank at night has been put into such an unsightly and unwanted vessel. At 11pm, 2am and 4am she wakes herself up and renews her demands for a pacha, angry with her defiant parents and insisting on making them pay through aural assault. Bad mama that I am, I have finally taken to turning off the baby monitor, sure I will hear her yells without any electronic assistance and amplification.
Last night she went to bed easily after, of course, tossing the sippy cup to the floor and pinning the panda down with extreme force. I left her there as she sang to her panda, learned how to knock on the wall and incorporated "ee-i-ee-i-ooooh" into a number of other songs. I went to the gym, came home and watched my DVR'd show, and collapsed into bed.
I awoke this morning refreshed, trying to remember why it was I slept so well. The lack of haziness assured me it was not an Ambien-induced sleep, Shawn Joaquin was already bouncing on the other side of the bed, eliminating some carbon-monoxide aided sleep. And then I realized that not once had I been summoned by Madelena during the night, and had in fact slept nearly 8 hours virtually undisturbed.
Most mothers would be relieved and singing kumbaya. My first thought was HOLY CRAP, SHE'S BEEN KIDNAPPED.
I'm happy to report that she is here and well, and we may have overcome the battle of the bottle. Only time and the bags under my eyes will tell, and should we have another skirmish I have decided that I am not beyond tapping into my own bottle to aid sleep, be it a lovely Jekel Reisling or that bottle of Ambien that beckons so sweetly from my bedside. Fingers crossed and Cirque Lodge on speed dial, I bid you all good night.
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