What a week it has been. Wow. I'm posting a day early this week, because tomorrow's lunch break will be filled with a visit with a good friend of mine. I'm really looking forward to it, and I didn't want to miss out on the blog updates!
On Friday morning, we started bottle boot camp. Believe it or not, it has been just as hard on me as it has been on Cullen. He might disagree, but I would call him a liar. Before Cullen got up Friday morning, I prepped his breakfast and morning bottle. I took a sharp knife and sliced right through the nipple of the bottle. I cringed. I knew it was going to be a tough day with lots of tough love.
Cullen got up and got all settled in for breakfast. He reached for his bottle, popped it into his mouth, took a gulp, and ripped the bottle of his mouth. He opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was milk. And then came the rage. He threw the bottle. After breakfast was over, he walked over to the bottle (still on the floor) and kicked it. Scout loved it, because she got a few ounces of milk before I tossed the bottle in the sink.
The initial mission of making him not like the bottle had been accomplished. Great, right? Meh. I give him the option of the sippy cup, and he laughed at me. Laughed like some sort of mental patient. Laughed like he knew I wouldn't be strong enough to stick to this new resolution. For the record, I won.
At nap time, Cullen still hadn't had anything to drink. Dehydrated Cullen could also be referred to as Cranky Cullen. A multitude of other monikers would fit for this one, but they're probably not blog appropriate. Cullen got violent. In the middle of his pre-nap tantrum (seriously), I squeezed the top of the sippy cup and poured milk down his throat mid-scream. It was like a switch flipped on. Cullen suddenly realized that the cup was not just a container of milk. There WAS a way to retrieve the milk.
The rest of Friday was a breeze. He drank from the cup, he held his own cup, he acted like it was completely natural, normal, and routine.
Saturday was different. Sunday was worse.
The bottles were all packed up, and I was way too stubborn to bring anything back out. With the bottle drying rack gone, there is officially space on the counter for my Keurig. I hardly slept on Sunday night. I feared the idea of sending him to school with a cup on Monday morning. I dreamt of a vengeful child beating up another kid over a bottle.
As it turned out, Monday went great at school. Cullen was the only kid in his class still on the bottle. He did great. No big deal. He just went on a hunger strike and tried to destroy my sanity. The good news is that the bottle is gone. I win.