We took C off the milk boppies about three weeks ago now, I guess, or was it longer? I knew that it was time, and I was looking forward to fewer milk spills and a more well-rounded diet, but there have been some other really cool benefits, too, such as going been nearly a week since I’ve been to the grocery store.

When C was a milk addict, I always had to keep the fridge stocked. I went to the grocery store three times a week at least just to keep the milk in the fridge. And some of those trips were at hours when I should’ve by all rights been asleep. It’s at least 3 times easier to give her water than to give her milk.

And we are still trying to give her milk, just not in bottles. But she steadfastly refuses. Even though she was a certified milk addict, she doesn’t seem to actually like milk.

I get that.

So apparently it’s been a while since I’ve written anything. I’m not really sure what the deal is with that, because I’ve had a lot to write about. I guess I’ve just been stressed in too many directions and haven’t allowed my creativity to flow. I don’t write for my job, although I would have if I’d followed my college path (history, psychology, and an English minor thrown in for good measure), therefore while writing is something I enjoy, I have to shift mental tracks to do it. And sometimes when I am just planning out a post or two, Katie beats me to it.

So yeah. Since I wrote last, C stopped drinking milk boppies. We found out Katie is pregnant. We had Christmas. And Katie has been incredibly sick with “morning” sickness, to the point that I have had a lot of one-on-one time with the toddler, who clearly would rather spend time with mama instead of dad. I’ve been having a lot of fires in my fireplace, which makes me sleepy, and I tend to want to be in bed this time of year at nine.

And it’s almost my birthday. So there’s that. I’m desperately trying to convince my amazing, wonderful, supremely talented, totally awesome wife to get me the new and totally awesome Google Nexus One, not in stores until next week. I keep sending her pestering emails about every latest update.

So if you want me to write more, you should help me by pestering her, too. Just leave a comment or send her an email and tell her how much I deserve the cool new phone. I didn’t get coal in my stocking this year (thank goodness), so maybe there’s hope.

This morning, C was not a happy camper. I don’t know if she got poor sleep (I did, although I’m not sure why), if she wasn’t feeling well, or if she just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. All I know is that nothing made her happy (especially when the cable went out in the middle of Tigger and Pooh), and she let us know all about it. I’ve never had such trouble just getting her in her carseat.

And then we got to her Mimi’s house, where she hangs out on Mondays. She was fine being there as long as I was there, but I couldn’t stay there forever. I ended up being a full thirty minutes late for work today, because C did not want me to leave.

I finally left her collapsed on the sidewalk and crying her eyes out. I nearly had to pull over and do likewise, it was so painful, but my mother (C’s Mimi) called me five minutes later and said that C cried for a minute and then looked up and said “boppy?”

I don’t know what we will do when it’s time – and it’s probably past time now – to get rid of the boppy. I dread that day.

Every day on our way home from work – a 30 to 40 minute commute – C happily goes from one four ounce “boppy” to another, quickly draining the two bottles I pack for her before leaving the office. And every day, she spends the last ten to fifteen minutes of our drive trying to convince me to let her have another boppy.

“Pweeze! Puweeze! Pweeze boppy?!?”

Every day I try to explain to her that I can’t just magically create more milk. I try desperately to compliment her on her nice manners but to explain that more milk simply isn’t a possibility, even though I’d kind of rather her think I’m perfect and magical just a bit longer. I suppose I could start bringing three or four bottles, but that’s not really the direction I want to head for her (and I don’t want to deal with it, either).

It’s rough that babies don’t understand logic and reality. They slowly learn that some things will lead to pain and therefore they should avoid them (C often says she doesn’t want to fall and her C’s self), but “drink your milk slowly” isn’t something she’s likely to understand anytime soon.

Ultimately, I’m ok with that. I just wish I could get her to stop crying on the way home.

This is C asleep on the way home from work Wednesday. She doesn’t usually sleep in the car on the way home (she usually spends most of the trip begging for more boppy), but her sleep schedule has been off this week. A few weeks ago, I dismantled her pack-n-play, where she usually sleeps at the office, in favor of being able to lie down with her. Now whenever she sees the bed, she says “lie down with me? daddy lie down with me?” and sometimes we relent and she sleeps, even if it’s hours earlier than her usual 1 o’clock nap.

She seems to go to sleep a lot earlier at night when she naps earlier in the day, so I’m thinking we might have hit upon something here.

I’ve been writing lately about C’s boppy obsession, so I thought I’d post a picture of her first ever boppy (taken in September of 2007, when she was about eight weeks old).

I’ve written before about C’s love for her bottle, which she – and everyone else in our family – refers to as “boppy.”

The earlier post was about how I don’t get the appeal of milk in a bottle on a hot summer day. This post is about how flat out tired I’m getting about the boppy in general. And excuse me if I seem a bit cranky or if something doesn’t quite make sense; I’ve spent the better part of an hour trying to keep C asleep for her afternoon nap, boppy in hand (hers, not mine).

And my shirtsleeve is absolutely soaked from milk dripping out of the side of her mouth and onto me as I held her. At the first cold drip, I tried to take the bottle away from her, but she clung to it in her near-sleep, and it was ten minutes of lovely cold milk drippings before I could get it from her and stop the flow.

So yeah, I’m tired of the boppy, and I’m tired of how easily it spills and leaks. And I really don’t want my sleeve to be cold, wet, and smelling of milk.

But I’ve got to admit something: I think I’m less ready for her to give up that little bit of cute babyness than she is. As much as I’m ready for boppy messes and expenses (disposable bottle liners) to go away, I’m really not ready for the end of the boppy.

And I doubt I’ll ever be.

Katie’s Babble post today is on C’s undying love for her “boppy,” possibly the cutest word in the ever, presumably derived from “bottle, please.”

I keep thinking about this boppy. Yes, I get the same stares from people that Katie gets, and no we are not imaging it. A few weeks ago I even saw someone’s mouth drop open, and yes, I was embarrassed.

It’s an odd thing, really, because I don’t think there’s actually anything wrong with the boppy (except at night, because I’m tired of milk-encrusted sheets). Why bottles are bad at 22 months but pacifiers or security blankets or – gasp – security “juice” cups are ok is beyond me. Simply put, it makes her happy, and it’s not hurting her. She gets enough food otherwise, and she drinks water when she that’s what she really needs. Big deal.

Parenting is such an odd thing in our society. It’s a universal. Most of us are or will become a parent, and all of us had them, to a greater or lesser extent. The whole “if you didn’t vote, you can’t complain” adage does not apply. Everyone’s got an opinion, and everyone is entitled to it. It’s a sure bet that no matter what you do, someone probably disapproves of it, and given enough of those somebodys, someone will be bold enough to let you know about it. Even if it is bizarre, none of their business, and ultimately ridiculous.

And what is even more ridiculous is that I care.

So up until here, I am totally on C’s side. I just want to let you know, dear beloved C, that I’ve got your back. As your dad, I support you in what you do, and I will gladly get you a boppy when you need one, so long as you say “please” instead of “now!” I have no interest any time soon in taking away your beloved boppy, despite the disapproval of strangers. I am simply not that mean; you wouldn’t understand what was going on, and even if you could, I wouldn’t be able to give a particularly good reason for being so stingy.

But I’ve just got to ask, between you and me, “why?” Why milk? Why milk even when it’s hot outside? Why milk first thing in the morning or last thing at night? Why? I mean, I know I’m not much of a fan anyway, so maybe my vote shouldn’t count for anything, but it just seems incredibly unappealing, and I can’t quite imagine how it could be a comfort. Yes, it’s cute, but, really, milk? I mean, yuck!