My Son's Deepest, Darkest Secret

Isn't this exactly the very thing that critics of mommy bloggers everywhere rail against? Telling your children's secrets on the internet and how they will hate you when they finally discover what you have done? Well have no fear, my husband and I don't so much have college funds set up as we do have therapy funds for our offspring. You can take that idea if you like. I think the insurance world is missing out on that one.

So my beautiful son has a deep, dark secret that has in turn become my deep, dark secret. I find myself avoiding writing about it and if I do have to tell someone about it, I do so through clenched teeth, while making excuses for him. On top of that, I make excuses to myself that his father did it until he was three, so it's genetic and not my shortcoming as a mother at all. Of course not.

My 19-month old MUST have a bottle when he wakes up in the morning and when he goes to bed at night. I know, I know, shut up. I feel you out there judging me and quickly clicking on the comments section to leave some well meaning advice, but please don't. I mean I could tell you how he is standing here next to me in his pajamas and winter coat with his hat on, but I won't. One secret a day is enough for anyone.

Crazyman drinks that morning bottle like it is his job. Like if he stops sucking for one instant before every last, little, sweet drop of milk is totally gone he will shrivel up and die. He struggles to breath through snotty noses to get to the bottom of that heavenly chalice. His first words each morning are "baba" and may the Lord have mercy on your soul if you don't produce it fast enough.

And yes, I've tried to stop it, but you don't know. If you utter the words 'no' and 'baba' in the same sentence the flood gates of hell rip open. If you say those two words in sentences that just follow another, his head spins and he tries to rip your face off. This is not a choice, it is a way of life.

So really, you must realize just how excited I was last night when suddenly my son decided that he could no longer drink his milk out of bottles with pictures on the side. This is a simple fix, I just give him one of the THREE bottles that we have that have no pictures of giraffes or Gumby on the side. Only the thing is at 19-months he isn't equipped to say "You know, Mom, I'm getting a little too mature for these cartoon characters to adorn my beverage. Could you kindly choose a more mature vessel for my sustenance?" No. What he is equipped to do is whine at length for his "baba, baba, MAMA BABA" and then swat the bottle with Glo-worm on the side out of my hand with only a scream and no worthy explanation. Many times I tried to give him his much loved baba and many times it flew across the room with grace and a splatter of the white stuff. Over and over he pointed to the cabinet and yelled "baba!" and gave a look that said "Woman, understand what I say, read my mind, I will use my baby Jedi mind tricks to make you jump off the roof!" And I tried, oh how I tried. Suddenly, as if God Himself spoke to me, it occurred to me and I put the milk in another bottle. And in that moment, I swear to you, I heard Heaven's angels singing in my ears. The roof of my kitchen opened up and God's Glorious Light shined down upon me as if I just pulled Excalibur out of the stone. I had won, even if it was only a small battle.

That was all fine and good until this morning my husband gave him that fucking Gumby bottle.

I will now be off to clean up the mess caused by fire and brimstone, which by the way, brimstone is a bitch to get out of upholstery.