Max's alter ego: Mr. Fussy Pants

Now that Max is officially one week old, his alter ego has finally emerged and made his presence VERY known: Mr. Fussy Pants.

Exhibit A: Last night Brandon and I decided to be time efficient and prepare bottles ahead of time for Max's night feedings (prior to last night we were making the bottles when they were needed). Preparing the bottles ahead of time, mind you, is perfectly acceptable and very common. The only thing is that you have to stick the bottles in the fridge and then serve them immediately after being taken out; you cannot heat them because uneven heating often results. So, when Max woke up for his 1:30 feeding, Brandon went to the fridge, grabbed one of the 3 bottles he had made ahead of time, and brought it to me so I could feed the little monster (er, Max). Max was very happy to have his bottle (he always is), but as soon as he took his first suck, he spat it out and cried. I tried again. He spat it out and cried. I must have tried a couple more times with the same result. Thinking I was doing something wrong, I gave the monster (er, Max) and his bottle to Brandon so that he could try. Same result. But Max was obviously still hungry--he kept opening his mouth and grabbing his hands and sucking on them.

It was then that we had an epiphany--Max does not like a cold bottle. Brandon went and made a new bottle with the warm water, gave it to me, and Max happily sucked away.

The little squirt got his way--no more pre-made cold bottles.

Exhibit B: Max often refuses to fall asleep unless he is in the arms of his mama. If we put him in his bassinette (I have no idea how to spell that word), he will cry until he is picked up and held. We hold the monster (er, Max) constantly (and I mean constantly--Brandon and I passively aggressively fight to hold the kid), and I think our constant holding has made him spoiled.

Exhibit C: Max must be swaddled. Perhaps because he was crammed into my uterus for 9 months (which was probably pretty tight quarters), Max really loves to be put in a tight swaddle. The night he was born, he was taken to the nursery while I was put in recovery, and the nurses told me the next morning that he was hysterical unless he was swaddled. Sure 'nuf, he does go ballistic unless he is swaddled.

Thank you, your honor, I rest my case.