"What drives someone to accomplish a difficult task against great odds? To defy convention, command or even coercion in order to hold true to a deeply held principle?"These are questions I asked my eight month-old son, Justin, the other day as he and I battled yet again over The Bottle.
The Bottle has become a milk-bone of contention in an otherwise wonderful relationship between my son and me.
To me, The Bottle symbolically represents an appeal to rational thought, a pragmatic solution to the pertinent question, "How shall my son get milk? How shall I give my poor wife some relief?" My attitude towards the bottle is informed by my adult certainty that nearly all babies take bottles with very little difficulty, benefiting from the nutrients and calories they imbue.
But to Justin, The Bottle is cast in a very sinister light. It represents the compulsory enforcement of artifice, blatant denial of his most cherished perceived needs, and the ultimate insult to his human dignity. With resolute disdain and rage, he will resist at all costs--to the very limits of his physical capacity--any attempt to introduce the darned thing into his mouth
Now, I am a huge proponent of mothers nursing their infants, and Elizabeth has done a fantastic job of struggling with and then succeeding at this noble task. Quite literally, every ounce of fluid that Justin has ever received, save a precious few ounces that he may have inadvertently swallowed while spewing the remainder of a bottle in my face, have come from his mother's milk.
We didn't recognize this bottle-phobia would be a problem until he was about two months old. At that age, we figured he was just confused by the different feels of bottles and nipples, and so we tried a variety a different brands, searching for one he would accept. He rejected them all wholesale. He had made up his mind: he would never--ever--take a bottle.
But I continued to hold my own stubborn and deeply held belief: that no baby or child will willingly allow themselves to starve to death when they have ample food placed before them. (The corollary of this belief is that if children have a choice between eating their vegetables and starvation, they will choose the veggies.)
Being somewhat obstinate myself, my strong-willed son and I were on a collision course, and at about four months of age, he, I and The Bottle sat down together to have it out. When Justin became hungry, Elizabeth was asked to leave the premises, and I took Justin to a comfortable room where lullabies played softly and there were no distractions. I spoke soothing words, cradling him lovingly. I had an array of bottles, nipples and formulas before me to handle every contingency.
Three hours later, I stumbled in a crazed stupor from the room, having endured relentless, mind-shattering shrieking for the entire time. I handed the frenzied boy to his concerned mother, who promptly satisfied his every need. That same scene replayed itself on three successive nights, and finally I surrendered, intending to wait until he was older and perhaps more reasonable.
That was five months ago. We still skirmish occasionally, just to see what will happen, but these Bottle Battles are now much shorter and less dramatic, and The Bottle and I always lose. We've basically lost hope in The Bottle and have resorted to passively hoping that sippy cups will one day catch on. We have been heartened by the recent discovery that he will take medicine from a dropper: might we deceive him into taking formula that way?
Through these struggles, Justin has held two aces in his hand. The first is that he is exceptionally cute and otherwise good natured, quick to smile and laugh, and has woven himself inextricably into our hearts. The second is that he has an incredibly patient and loving mother in whom his absolute confidence to provide for all his needs, no matter the personal costs to her, is always rewarded.When he is finally weaned from nursing, Elizabeth will deserve a gold star, a congressional medal of honor, a national monument on the Washington Mall, a symphony written in her name. Her devotion and love to her son has been truly inspiring.
I, too, love Justin very much, and he is very similar to my other two wonderful, cute, independent and strong-willed children, though neither of them had the bottle issue. I know that in the end their evident willpower, though leading to numerous parenting challenges in the interim, will serve them well in life. Or so I'd like to think.
In honesty, this strong will is partly a personal attribute, inherited from my parents, that I am proud to pass on to my children. I'd like to think that for me it has been a net positive, helping me doggedly persevere to overcome difficult challenges and attain worthy goals.
But with deeper reflection, I'm also aware that this very willfulness has gotten me into trouble, and has sometimes transformed into an inflexibility that has prevented me from embracing other opportunities, from accepting a palatable alternative, or from enjoying a worry-free existence.
But as far as I know, it never prevented me from taking a bottle. I mean, come on, son! You would like it if you would only try it, I promise. Pretty please?
Well, I know full well that no amount of begging or cajoling will work. But this much I have to say: watch out, World. Our little J-Man is going to try to impose his will on you. And considering how things have started out, I wouldn't bet against him.
