As soon as Mama goes out to the garage to workout, Bryce wakes up.
Hungry.
Beatrice and I are hanging out listening to Toddler Tunes on one of the cable music channels.
No fear -- Daddy's here.
I can do this. Mama has started pumping her milk for these moments. We wanted to get Bryce on the bottle sooner than Bea ever did. Which, in retrospect, she never really did...
Focus.
Bea's mellow yellow sucking her thumb and listening to music, so I run upstairs to get Bryce.
I bring her downstairs and she wails in my ears, I pop the bottle of breast milk in the microwave (no calls, please) and get the rubber nipple read for placement.
Bea hasn't moved. Just gently rocking to the music. Bruce Springsteen is singing "Chicken Lips And Lizard Hips".
Ping.
Bottle out, nipple on, secure baby in my arms with the boppy pillow in my lap -- it's magic time.
Bryce is drinking contentedly.
*sigh*
I smile. Give myself a confident nod with a lower-lip raise.
But wait. I'm forgetting something.
The burp rag!
Bryce is much more of an "urper" than Bea ever was. Not abnormal reflux, but definitely more milk coming up than any parent would want.
Where is it?!?
I scan the living room. There! On the couch above where Bea is laying.
"Beatrice, can you bring me the burp rag please?"
Nothing.
"Bea, please bring daddy that rag above you."
Crickets chirping.
"Please, sweetie, bring me it to me. It's right there. Look up."
Dust motes float by.
"Bea."
Bryce finishes her milk.
"A little help."
