It is very aggravating when I must compete with them for access to Alana’s piehole. Its battling for a piece of a Trans Asian pipeline, the Panama Canal, the Horn of Africa – governments will kill for it, indigenous populations will riot lest they be subject to imperialism.   Alana’s paws grab and flail, a grass-roots protest against development and progress.

Feeding her is hard enough without these challenges. I ain’t saying breast-feeding is easier, but its a far more efficient system. It takes 2 hands and a lap to feed her a bottle, and lot of patience for sitting around doing nothing. Lying in bed and giving her a bottle? No, times-a-wastin’, you woke us both up Pod. Sitting on the couch giving her a bottle? I would not know, as I can’t remember the last time I sat on the couch. So we sit at my desk and I read email, leave the bottle dangling temporarily from her gaping maw while I click on the next item in my inbox, serve her for another minute, repeat. Or I position the boppy on my lap, her on my lap, have sweat pool under my thights, and feed her while I navigate a mouse and type 1-handed.

These are all tedious and time-consuming, and for Meatpod none of these constitute a 5-star service experience. Requests to speak to the Manager abound. She clearly misses all the patient attention she got from MomMom, who otherwise did a fabulous job not spoiling her grandkids.     I can’t, nor want to, compete with that.  

She complains, I let her work out some of her issues.   She is eating a ton, the complaining works up a thirst.   Mixing up days between Beckie and me is probably a good strategy:   Beckie nurtures, and   i teach her about the cold hard world.

She is so close to sucking her thumb, finally she will have some toys of her own to play with.