Like most little boys, Mason enjoys a nice bottle of milk with his breakfast in the morning. He’s not quite ready for milk from a sippy cup yet (though water or juice isn’t a problem for some reason), so we still use the trusty Medela bottles we’ve been using for months now. Lately, Mason has gotten destructive (what else is new?) with the bottles. They don’t really tolerate the four-foot fall from high chair tray to floor. He’s cracked two nipple rings (the plastic piece that secures the nipple atop the bottle) already. Usually, only an ounce or so seeped out of the bottle before the cleaning crew arrived for duty. Aside from the expense of replacing the ring, not a big deal, right?
Wrong! Mason is always outdoing himself after all.
A few days ago, we encountered the worst milk-related disaster the family has ever seen. It started as a typical morning routine.
- Mason wakes us up
- Mason gets placed in high chair and served breakfast (pancakes in this instance)
- Mason asks (in baby babble) for milk
- Daddy gets Mason his milk
This is where everything changed. Normally Mason is pretty content for us to get some house stuff done, and feed the cats. I went to feed the cats, and Holly was getting ready for work. As I came upstairs from feeding the cats, I heard the distinctive sound of liquid being splattered. At first, it sounded like a dog slurping water…it was then I realized we don’t have a dog.
And there he was…sloshing milk all over his tray. The milk had concentrated itself into the space reserved for cups and bottles, and Mason was swishing his fingers in it, making the sound I had mistaken for a drinking dog. Soaked PJ’s, milk all over the floor, and arguably the biggest smile I had ever seen on Mason’s face…truly this was a sight to behold!
The cause of the catastrophe was found to be a severely inverted nipple on Mason’s milk bottle. Apparently, Mason used a finger to push it all the way down, turning it completely inside out and breaking the bottle seal. The boy then strategically toppled the bottle over and at least 4 ounces of milk flooded the immediate area.
Of course, contradictory to the title, I freaked. Something about only having an hour in the morning to feed, dress, entertain and get Mason out the door kind of makes me panic when things go awry. Just call me the Freaked Father from 7:00-8:00 AM.