"Pardon my French, but what the

HELL is this?" said the 10 week old baby when her father placed a bottle of formula into her mouth in the wee wee hours of Saturday morning. The plan was to let Mom get some sleep. The lack there of has been taking its toll on her brain function and this seemed like a practical solution. So with some gentle coaching from a trusted friend I went there. I was ready to try a little supplementing. E, on the other hand, was not.

It wasn't the bottle that threw her, it was what came out that sent her into a gurgling nightmare. Poor thing would take a suck, cry, take a suck, cry. I heard the milk in the back of her little throat bubbling as she fought that horrible taste from entering her body.

I'll admit, as desperate as I am to get a break, I was secretly hoping she would hate getting anything other than my milk. My heart filled up with pride as I climbed out of bed and ran to her rescue. I lifted my shirt and she clamped onto me as if she hadn't seen her warm and soft ba bas in days. She was in the land of milk and honey and there wasn't a soul who could pry her off.

So, failed attempt number one. Good news is she'll take a bottle, she just wont drink that stinky, nasty formula. I don't blame her. As I was making that bottle the guilt raised up in my chest as the horrible whiff of pretend milk wafted into my smeller. Yuck.

The bottle we will try again. I'm going to have to find time and energy to pump one night time feeding so's the mama can get a break. The dada just seems too darn rested and I'm thinking we need to even this out a little bit. :-)