Despite the trauma I was imagining, we managed to ditch both
the bottle and the formula over a few weeks' time without much to-do. The boy hasn’t
been fazed much by the transition, and now I just offer him milk three times a
day, water the rest of the time (I really should give him more credit for being more flexible than my fear-mongering imagination would have me believe). We hardly ever have juice in the house so it
never occurs to me to offer him any. For some reason, I still have two baby bottles
in the cabinet. They are surrounded by five different kinds of sippy cups.
I’ve noticed that I hardly ever use the pouches anymore –
you know, the ready-made squishy foods for babies at the grocery store that are
an absolute miracle for feeding. Once in a while I break one out, but for the
most part we’ve learned how to feed the boy the same stuff we eat. I’m even
thrilled to report that the boy has finally decided he likes noodles! It only
took about four or five tries over a few months. (Still working on eggs,
though. He takes a bite and lets it drop out of his mouth in disgust. Sigh.)
Yesterday we put away the baby monitor – the one in the
living room, anyway. We really don’t need it anymore since the boy usually
wakes a few dead people when he’s having trouble sleeping or has woken up on
the wrong side of the crib. Somehow I’m comforted, though, seeing that steady
green light glowing in our bedroom. I will wait until the day I give it away
to a new mom this weekend, and then that will be that.
We also found new homes for the pack & play (which he
won’t spend more than five minutes in anymore) and the breast pump (which cost a
fortune but is fully tax-deductible). And of course, there’s the ongoing
process of setting aside clothing he’s grown out of and adding bigger ones to
the rotating drawers.
I’m already sentimental. My baby’s not really a baby
anymore. Except that he’s my baby and
will be for life. I often can't resist greeting him by saying "Hey baby!"
