As previously mentioned, my daughter hates eating during the day. However, once in a blue moon I get to feed her during waking hours. So when she shows interest in her bottle during daylight, we drop everything. It’s like watching a white jaguar…on its hind legs, juggling sweet potatoes. I don’t question it. I don’t interrupt. I don’t talk. I try not to make eye contact. I barely breathe.
I tip her into the crook of my arm and hope she can handle at least 4 oz. Because desire to eat is seldom expressed (thus making me ill prepared for such a rare event), I am sometimes caught in uncomfortable positions. Sometimes she will be laying on her back in her crib with me doubled over and on my tip toes to accommodate her. Earlier today, the way I tilted her back trapped her tiny hand in my underarm. She has a tendency to pat or lightly scratch her caretaker’s back during a feeding and today was no different… except for the placement of the hand.
Old habits die hard, so she proceeded to gently wiggle her hand around to get into a good position to scratch. It began to tickle. After a while, I was silently laughing to the point of tears and heaving shoulders. All of this goes unnoticed by Ari, for she has already closed her eyes in relaxation. Remember: no noise. I mustn’t scare her off. So I look away in what can only be described as the most painless type of agony. At this point, the only thing I am grateful for is that no one can see us. Oh the plethora of ridiculous moments this girl induces.