The Joy of Soy
Per my 3 month old, the soy farmers of the heartland can kiss his pampers-clad butt.
During my pregnancy, I never gave formula a lot of thought for this little guy. I was a formula veteran--having adopted two babies, I knew the in's and out's of Enfamil vs. Similac, silicon vs. rubber, disposable vs. reusable. However, for a change, I was looking forward to the opportunity of breastfeeding this little one. What's that saying about the best laid plans always getting crapped up? Life (perhaps that should be edited to say "MY life") has a way of screwing things up, and when Cole arrived a bit early, he was too small and too weak to nurse. I pumped for awhile, but he just could never get the hang of it. So, I grudgingly turned to the bottle for comfort. Or rather, the baby did. Things worked out well for awhile, but as of late . . .
I'd noticed that my little darling had been having quite a bit of gas with his bottles. He was arching and squirming as though his 'iddle tummy hurt. He was fussy and crabby after his bottle. So, this being my third kidlet, I don't need no stinking doctor. I diagnose him with milk sensitivity and promptly start mixing up some soy-based formula confection, in all its stenchy glory. Good Lord, is there NO WAY to make the soy formula smell a little less raunchy? MUST it smell like ass? With all our modern technology, can't the stuff be infused with a yummy smelling aroma? Forget about this new-fangled LIPIL crap, and concentrate on improved smell, for criminy's sake.
But, back to our topic. Now my little munchking is slurping away a bottle o' soy formula. And like magik, gas is nearly gone! I congratulate myself on a parenting job well done. I consider writing parenting book. I mentally spend advanced money for authorship of parenting book. I mentally spend advanced money three times over. I pat self on back again. I am so proud of self. Look, baby is so less gassy. I am gifted at this mothering shit, truly I am. Gifted. I consider going to medical school and becoming beloved, world-reknowned pediatrician. As an added bonus, I have saved family the $15 copay of a doctor visit. I add thrifty to my list of inner virtues. Decide to mentally spend the $15 that I saved. It is mine after all, since I was the one who did the saving.
But wait.
Soy formula may be less gas-inducing, but my little darling doesn't seem to like it. He doesn't seem to be eating it. At. All. Okay, maybe that is an exaggeration. A bit. But he is definitely not eating with the usual gusto. As the overprotective momma of a preemie baby, I notice such things. That said, I decide to take approach inspired by own grandmother (a little-known goddess of childrearing, undoubtedly where I get my own prowess, certainly I am channeling her spirit at this moment), in the form of "when he gets hungry, he'll eat." Well, that is Sunday. Monday, baby is still not a fan of soy. Tuesday am, baby is still not convinced. His ever-deepening scowl lets me know he will never be vegan.
Tuesday pm, I break down. I mix up more of his old moo-based formula. Baby promptly slugs back an entire bottle, then enjoys gas induced squirming and arching and proceeds to fart in careless abandon. The idea enters my head that perhaps baby not only enjoys the taste of milk, he seems to be enjoying the gassy squirming. Which makes perfect sense, once I consider his father's own habits.
Make note to self re: the need to pick up some lacto-free formula at the local 'mart.
During my pregnancy, I never gave formula a lot of thought for this little guy. I was a formula veteran--having adopted two babies, I knew the in's and out's of Enfamil vs. Similac, silicon vs. rubber, disposable vs. reusable. However, for a change, I was looking forward to the opportunity of breastfeeding this little one. What's that saying about the best laid plans always getting crapped up? Life (perhaps that should be edited to say "MY life") has a way of screwing things up, and when Cole arrived a bit early, he was too small and too weak to nurse. I pumped for awhile, but he just could never get the hang of it. So, I grudgingly turned to the bottle for comfort. Or rather, the baby did. Things worked out well for awhile, but as of late . . .
I'd noticed that my little darling had been having quite a bit of gas with his bottles. He was arching and squirming as though his 'iddle tummy hurt. He was fussy and crabby after his bottle. So, this being my third kidlet, I don't need no stinking doctor. I diagnose him with milk sensitivity and promptly start mixing up some soy-based formula confection, in all its stenchy glory. Good Lord, is there NO WAY to make the soy formula smell a little less raunchy? MUST it smell like ass? With all our modern technology, can't the stuff be infused with a yummy smelling aroma? Forget about this new-fangled LIPIL crap, and concentrate on improved smell, for criminy's sake.
But, back to our topic. Now my little munchking is slurping away a bottle o' soy formula. And like magik, gas is nearly gone! I congratulate myself on a parenting job well done. I consider writing parenting book. I mentally spend advanced money for authorship of parenting book. I mentally spend advanced money three times over. I pat self on back again. I am so proud of self. Look, baby is so less gassy. I am gifted at this mothering shit, truly I am. Gifted. I consider going to medical school and becoming beloved, world-reknowned pediatrician. As an added bonus, I have saved family the $15 copay of a doctor visit. I add thrifty to my list of inner virtues. Decide to mentally spend the $15 that I saved. It is mine after all, since I was the one who did the saving.
But wait.
Soy formula may be less gas-inducing, but my little darling doesn't seem to like it. He doesn't seem to be eating it. At. All. Okay, maybe that is an exaggeration. A bit. But he is definitely not eating with the usual gusto. As the overprotective momma of a preemie baby, I notice such things. That said, I decide to take approach inspired by own grandmother (a little-known goddess of childrearing, undoubtedly where I get my own prowess, certainly I am channeling her spirit at this moment), in the form of "when he gets hungry, he'll eat." Well, that is Sunday. Monday, baby is still not a fan of soy. Tuesday am, baby is still not convinced. His ever-deepening scowl lets me know he will never be vegan.
Tuesday pm, I break down. I mix up more of his old moo-based formula. Baby promptly slugs back an entire bottle, then enjoys gas induced squirming and arching and proceeds to fart in careless abandon. The idea enters my head that perhaps baby not only enjoys the taste of milk, he seems to be enjoying the gassy squirming. Which makes perfect sense, once I consider his father's own habits.
Make note to self re: the need to pick up some lacto-free formula at the local 'mart.
posted by ~L @ 9:23 AM
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