Nathaniel is changing, right before our very eyes. He went from skirting rooms like a criminal, to a timid peninsula, to an unstable island—almost in a matter of days. And now he is running. His knees might be locked, but he is definitely running.
He’s also got an unexpected head of blond curls, long golden eyelashes and the most angelic pout. So it comes as quite an unpleasant change in our daily routine when our dark-eyed cherub is… constantly screeching.
This week I read a community comment on BabyCenter.com about moving from a bottle to sippy cups cold turkey and I was inspired. Dr. Antsy recommends making the switch at one year, so I figured Nate has had a three month grace period. Jacob literally switched instantly to his sippy cup the day after his first birthday. (I think standards weaken exponentially with each subsequent child.)
Food milestones have always been insanely easy with the insatiable one. But Nate, Nate has always been a different story. If I think back, I remember how he refused to drink his bottle during his first week of daycare. You don’t want to know what desperate and unrealistic scenarios the brain of a new mother is capable of conjuring. That transition was rough, as were the days following a holiday, anytime I went out of town and well, every Monday.
So, back to cold turkey. Last night we offered him a sippy cup of milk instead of his bottle. He was so mad he just shrieked and cried and stomped around angrily. He wouldn’t even taste it (even though he drinks water from sippy cups every day).
This morning we offered it to him again. He vehemently shook his head “no,” flailed around, arched his back and flung himself about in despair.
Tonight we made up the sippy cup and put it on the living room table. When he saw it, he commenced with the screeching, sobbing and circling the living room. His anger led him on a solo tirade through the kitchen, down the hall, back to the dining room and into the laundry room where he just stood behind the stroller and uttered angry, cryptic profanities.
Hell hath no fury like a cherub scorned.
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