The Lion and The Spoon

During my Ramen-nourished stint as a reporter for the Malvern Daily Record in my early 20's, I was called out to the local supermarket one afternoon to investigate an emergency broadcast over my police radio.

When I arrived, the situation that warranted the bulletin was unquestionable: a powder-blue sedan had shot through the front glass window, zoomed past a Justice of the Peace's elderly mother, and came to rest in the center aisle after exerting its considerable influence upon the deli station.

By the end of every day for the past week or so, I've felt like the driver of that four-wheeled wrecking ball .  I wake up with a naive enthusiasm for helping Ava conquer the feeding issues she developed during her last medical episode, and by the time I'm adding up the deficit of ounces I'll need to run through her pump at night, I feel like the disoriented driver who  pressed the wrong pedal and ended up in the lunch meat display instead of East Page Avenue.

%#€¥~$&!!!!

Feeding Ava the slight amounts she'll take by mouth now goes against every instinct I have as a mother.  Watching her disengage or become upset after sucking down only two ounces with conviction, I have to continue reminding myself that A) her formula is fortified to deliver much higher calorie count than she used to receive, B) the amino acid-based mix is broken down much more effectively than a milk or soy-based formula, and it stands to reason that she's probably receiving more thorough nutrition from less volume,  C) the dirty diaper factory is still in business, and finally, D) as Daddy astutely pointed out the other day during one of Mommy's fret fits, Pooter Scooter has a wee balloon inflated inside her stomach which keeps her G- button secured, and this probably takes up room that was previously reserved for milk.

But that's just reason, which is a weak opponent for mommy feelings.  Since I can tell she's not in pain AND she's getting enough nutrition on paper, I'm going to have to yield to her current speed and settle for binge-feeding Honey Boo Boo Dog.

There have been a few silver linings in the midst of our recent misadventures in feeding.  During a moment of desperation, I figured out that I could distract Ava from her feeding terrors borne of her pre-op volvulus pain by continuously playing heavily rhythmic music from her Einstein lion:

Believe me when I say if I didn't love our daughter with my entire being, that evil thing would be rolling down a ravine off of I30.  But it helps her deal with the trauma of shots, heels sticks and eating phobias, so the lion stays.  For now.  But I'm not naming him.

And the best and shiniest lining of all is that Little A is practically begging for solid food.  Everything goes in her happy little mouth -- the giraffe toy, baby toes, Mommy's new highlights....even the floppy-eared dog has learned the dangers of standing still next to her swing too long.  So last week, we got out the wee neon spoons and commenced to numming.  Cuteness ensued......