It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that once you become pregnant, everyone starts to judge you. Target cashiers have told me that using the Dallas Cowboys pacifier I was purchasing would all but turn my baby into a serial killer. (Was it the team or the pacifier itself? I was too afraid to ask.) I offended a friend when I joked that we'd only be buying products for our child endorsed by Einstein... Baby Einstein, that is. I upset a co-worker because I was eating a roast beef sandwich and drinking a Coke. Mama needs her beef! And I can't even imagine all the uproar that will ensue when I tell people that my approach to vaccines is "SHOOT 'EM UP!"
But I expected all of this. What I didn't expect was the incredulity people expressed when I told them I wanted my husband to be involved with the feeding of our child, even if it meant we'd be supplementing with formula.
This decision has nothing to do with me shirking my duties as a parent. And it's not a way to somehow coerce my husband into more late nights than are his due. I just really want him to share in the fun of feeding time. When It Comes To Parenting, Give Dad A Chance
I am the oldest of eight children, and my mom breastfed us all, except for my younger brother. He was born three months premature with Down's syndrome and, as we would discover later, autism. Noah spent the first two months of his little life in the hospital and I wasn't even allowed to hold him until he was a month old. Because the birth and delivery were so difficult for my mom, Noah was fed formula. And while this was not my mother's first choice, it did mean that all his older siblings (all seven of us) got to share in feeding time. When he finally came home, my siblings and I literally fought over who got to give Noah his bottle.