Charlie's Bottle

Charlie's Bottle and Little Nutbrown Hare, 4-21-10


I think I'm a pretty good Grammakate. At least I'm a consistent and dependable Grammakate, if the fact that I show up at Charlie's house every morning between 7 and 7:30, ready to love her, counts for anything.

However, I have not been a consistent blogger -- at least not since those days when blogging was my newest obsession. I still love blogging, and I've spent many bloggable moments with Charlie in the last few weeks. I just haven't had time to blog. Or, on one particular subject, the inclination...

I remember hearing somewhere that if you don't have something nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all. I've always liked the way that sounded, and if I'm not all caught up in the heat of some "moment," I try to follow it. So on the subject of giving Charlie the milk that her mother so lovingly pumps for her every day -- a true act of motherly love -- from a bottle, I haven't been able to say -- make that write -- much.

I have taken care of other people's babies while they worked, and I will say that giving those babies their bottles has always been one of my favorite parts of "borrowing" babies. Holding a child in my arms, its tiny hands clutching my fingers as it blissfully fills its tummy...That feeling of being able to provide exactly what that child needs at that moment is one of the best feelings in ther world to me!

But with our own little Charlie, it's been a completely different experience. We all knew that Charlie could take a bottle...We'd seen her do it. On more than one occassion. But the day Charlie's mommy returned to work was the day that Charlie simply decided that she would no longer be using one of those things to supply her nourishment. She told me so the very first time I tried to give her one...

(First, of course, she told me she was hungry. But even if she hadn't begun licking and sucking her hands eagerly, I would have known -- It had been at least three hours since Mommy had left, from all appearances, completely confident that everything was going to be fine.)

Of course, I was there for little Charlie, with a grandmother's love in my heart and a delicious bottle of Mommy's breastmilk in my hand. I cooed lovingly as I cuddled her close and placed the bottle in between her lips. Uh-uh. She moved her head from side to side, trying to push the thing out of her mouth as she made little "eh-eh-eh" noises. So I tried a different position. Still, the "Eh-eh-eh," a little louder this time.

Four or five positions later, including one where I stood on my head and held the damned bottle between my feet (I think), I was exasperated and Charlie was screaming at the top of her lungs. Just screaming. Eventually, as she tired, she actually began mouthing "Wah-wah-wah!" She was so adorable. I kissed her little tear-streaked cheeks as I cried my own tears. (Which, thinking back, probably didn't help much. Sigh.)

This same pattern occurred every day for two weeks. Mommy would call -- sometimes while Charlie was mid-tantrum. I couldn't hear what she was saying then, but I know she heard Charlie. (In fact, she probably heard Charlie all the way from downtown, and that was why she called.) I'd assure her that I could handle things, and that I'd call her back. And she'd sigh, "Ok." And I'd feel an incredible -- and futile -- urge to comfort my Meagan, too.

Thankfully, even the most stubborn baby eventually gets tired. After at least an hour of trying to tell me that she wasn't going to take that stupid bottle, so would I please go get her mommy, Charlie would eventually doze. And when she would begin to awaken, I would be there to stuff a bottle in her mouth. And she would actually manage to gulp down a couple of ounces...Enough to hold her until Mommy got home. (Amazingly, she didn't lose a single ounce of her "fluff" through all this!)

Now that doesn't really sound like Grammakate saying nice things about her Charlie-Bean, does it? But it's okay. I can say good things now...

Like finally, on Monday, when Mommy called for a report, I was able to tell her that I was just getting ready to give Charlie her bottle, and that everything was going to be fine. I told her to think positive thoughts; she told me later that she had told Charlie telepathically to take her bottle. Positive thinking or telepathy...Something worked. I cradled Charlie's head with my hand as she nestled in her "Boppy," and she looked [lovingly?] into my eyes as she sucked a three-ounce bottle dry. Then burped. It was amazing. And she did the same thing a couple of hours later. And then the next day. And the next...

I love giving Charlie her bottle. I love the way she clutches my hand as she draws in all that good nourishment. I love the way she sometimes smiles up at me and lets milk run all over her neck. I even love it when she spits up on me because she got too much too quickly.

Life is good, indeed.