Moving on to Gloppy Foods
I'm about two weeks late to give the report that Zane is eating things of an oatmeal-like consistency. So far, he's eaten rice cereal, vegetable baby food and junk mail.
I'm really happy he's eating things other than pure breast milk. It may be nature's perfect food for babies, but nature was really inconsiderate in making it so damn inconvenient. Feeding a baby on breast milk makes lots of jobs more difficult to divide since avatra lactates ever so much better than I do.
I could feed him formula, but studies have shown that formula fed babies might have developmental problems, particularly since their parents tend to be killed by fanatic la leche league people
The big opinions you'll hear about raising infants are very polarized. There's people who strongly believe children should sleep in the same bed as their parents, and there's people who strongly believe children should sleep alone without anyone responding to their crying until morning.
Breast milk is a bigger debate than the rest. I think that's because breast milk has noted benefits, and the alternative is basically having children enter the world drinking powdered milk, a poor introduction if ever one was. It's also because choosing to breast feed makes a parent's life a lot more complicated.
I'll throw up some numbers that are probably way off but represent my subjective guesses. Let's say a pair of breasts can produce 4oz of milk every hour, and a baby needs to drink 8oz of milk every three hours. That leaves a mother with an excess of 32oz of milk per day, except, of course, that would be if she woke herself up every hour to pump milk, which she doesn't. That leaves 20oz of milk beyond a baby's feeding from working hours, if she pumps ever hour, and pumping is a 15-20 minute process.
So, generally, if a mother is diligent, she can get maybe three hours of milk beyond the baby's daily needs.
I started feeling like an addict. A heroin addict, deprived of heroin, might start to feel a ringing in his ears. If I didn't have a steady supply of breast milk available, I heard this pained wailing in my ears. These bottles and bags of milk took on an importance I'd normally reserve for cash or gold. They were a standard of security.
I've heard nursing mothers say they feel like cows. From my perspective, it's not like a nursing mother is a cow. It's like it's an apocalyptic future where she's the last cow in all existence, and the world has become overrun with chocolate chip cookies, so that all people want is the milk, the milk!
So it's a small step when I took rice cereal, mixed it with breast milk, and fed it to Zane. He's eating breast milk and rice with a breast milk chaser. However, to me, it's like my grocery store suddenly said, "Starting this week, we will accept payments in equal parts cash and dried leaves." Zane needs half as much milk, and the reserves are high enough that, if NASA gets funding for its moon surface base, avatra can be on it, and we're fine for milk.
And mostly, I don't have to do any of that, "Here comes the choo choo!" garbage, which is just as well, because I'm sure whatever metaphors I'd use for a spoon going into Zane's mouth would scar him for life. Basically, if he's not desperately thirsty and if I'm not trying to feed him yams and if I've not fed him yams for the last fifteen minutes, Zane will tilt his head back and open his mouth helpfully.
So he doesn't like yams. I absolutely hate them. I consider it a culinary masterpiece if they don't set off my gag reflex. I'm a picky eater about some things. I don't eat meat. I'm not too fond of cauliflower. I almost never eat junk mail.
Zane, however, quivers with anticipation when I carry him with me to the mailbox, because he knows that there are pages upon colorful pages of coupons and advertisements on a kind of paper easily crumpled, drool softened and thrust into one's mouth. It keeps him endlessly entertained, and I thought I could get the stuff away from him before he actually ingested any of it. My criminal negligence was laid bare a couple days ago when Zane threw up some milk with a couple of small scraps that were unmistakably Netflix red.
So I don't feed Zane yam baby food, except once I glanced at the picture and I just saw the orange, and some bad neurons said, "Carrots", so I tried to give Zane what I thought were carrots, and the mere smell made him turn his head. Then I tried to feed Zane zuccini baby food , which he's moderately accepted. Only he was still in yams refusal mode, so he turned away from the zuccini. Then I went to rice cereal, which is almost half breast milk after it's mixed. However, the hams were on his mind, so I ended up only getting the rice cereal (aka 'baby spackle') on his upper lip.
I get a paper towel to wipe the cereal from his lip, and Zane grabs the paper towel and proceeds to feed it into his mouth. I pried the towel away for a moment, put the spoon into his mouth, and then let go. Zane thrust the paper towel back onto his face, effectively wiping it in his eagerness to eat the paper towel. I continued, and it turned out to be one of the easier feedings.
I'm really happy he's eating things other than pure breast milk. It may be nature's perfect food for babies, but nature was really inconsiderate in making it so damn inconvenient. Feeding a baby on breast milk makes lots of jobs more difficult to divide since avatra lactates ever so much better than I do.
I could feed him formula, but studies have shown that formula fed babies might have developmental problems, particularly since their parents tend to be killed by fanatic la leche league people
The big opinions you'll hear about raising infants are very polarized. There's people who strongly believe children should sleep in the same bed as their parents, and there's people who strongly believe children should sleep alone without anyone responding to their crying until morning.
Breast milk is a bigger debate than the rest. I think that's because breast milk has noted benefits, and the alternative is basically having children enter the world drinking powdered milk, a poor introduction if ever one was. It's also because choosing to breast feed makes a parent's life a lot more complicated.
I'll throw up some numbers that are probably way off but represent my subjective guesses. Let's say a pair of breasts can produce 4oz of milk every hour, and a baby needs to drink 8oz of milk every three hours. That leaves a mother with an excess of 32oz of milk per day, except, of course, that would be if she woke herself up every hour to pump milk, which she doesn't. That leaves 20oz of milk beyond a baby's feeding from working hours, if she pumps ever hour, and pumping is a 15-20 minute process.
So, generally, if a mother is diligent, she can get maybe three hours of milk beyond the baby's daily needs.
I started feeling like an addict. A heroin addict, deprived of heroin, might start to feel a ringing in his ears. If I didn't have a steady supply of breast milk available, I heard this pained wailing in my ears. These bottles and bags of milk took on an importance I'd normally reserve for cash or gold. They were a standard of security.
I've heard nursing mothers say they feel like cows. From my perspective, it's not like a nursing mother is a cow. It's like it's an apocalyptic future where she's the last cow in all existence, and the world has become overrun with chocolate chip cookies, so that all people want is the milk, the milk!
So it's a small step when I took rice cereal, mixed it with breast milk, and fed it to Zane. He's eating breast milk and rice with a breast milk chaser. However, to me, it's like my grocery store suddenly said, "Starting this week, we will accept payments in equal parts cash and dried leaves." Zane needs half as much milk, and the reserves are high enough that, if NASA gets funding for its moon surface base, avatra can be on it, and we're fine for milk.
And mostly, I don't have to do any of that, "Here comes the choo choo!" garbage, which is just as well, because I'm sure whatever metaphors I'd use for a spoon going into Zane's mouth would scar him for life. Basically, if he's not desperately thirsty and if I'm not trying to feed him yams and if I've not fed him yams for the last fifteen minutes, Zane will tilt his head back and open his mouth helpfully.
So he doesn't like yams. I absolutely hate them. I consider it a culinary masterpiece if they don't set off my gag reflex. I'm a picky eater about some things. I don't eat meat. I'm not too fond of cauliflower. I almost never eat junk mail.
Zane, however, quivers with anticipation when I carry him with me to the mailbox, because he knows that there are pages upon colorful pages of coupons and advertisements on a kind of paper easily crumpled, drool softened and thrust into one's mouth. It keeps him endlessly entertained, and I thought I could get the stuff away from him before he actually ingested any of it. My criminal negligence was laid bare a couple days ago when Zane threw up some milk with a couple of small scraps that were unmistakably Netflix red.
So I don't feed Zane yam baby food, except once I glanced at the picture and I just saw the orange, and some bad neurons said, "Carrots", so I tried to give Zane what I thought were carrots, and the mere smell made him turn his head. Then I tried to feed Zane zuccini baby food , which he's moderately accepted. Only he was still in yams refusal mode, so he turned away from the zuccini. Then I went to rice cereal, which is almost half breast milk after it's mixed. However, the hams were on his mind, so I ended up only getting the rice cereal (aka 'baby spackle') on his upper lip.
I get a paper towel to wipe the cereal from his lip, and Zane grabs the paper towel and proceeds to feed it into his mouth. I pried the towel away for a moment, put the spoon into his mouth, and then let go. Zane thrust the paper towel back onto his face, effectively wiping it in his eagerness to eat the paper towel. I continued, and it turned out to be one of the easier feedings.