Sippy Cup

Word on the street is that babies should be cut off from the bottle around the 14th month mark. The street being a cashier at Wal-mart; when you have a baby in your cart, everyone thinks they’re qualified to dish out parenting advice. I find its best to listen, nod your head in agreement, and say “I definitely HAVE to try that.” Then call your mom when you get to the car and tell her this world is full of crackpots and you’re seriously considering homeschooling.

In this case, the Wal-Mart lady was right but she made it sound as if the bottle was baby crack and transitioning Rinn would be worse than when I had to give up soft cheeses while pregnant. Don’t get between me and my feta. I’ll admit that I thought she might be an all-knowing prophetic baby gypsy when Rinn was given his first sippy cup since the crying and screaming that ensued was similar to what I imagine would happen if someone were to accidently unlock the gates to hell. Turns out that sippy cup was a piece of shit and you needed the suction power of a Dyson to get anything out of it. Sippy cup number two went over much better since it would appear that Rinn just wants food in his mouth, how it arrives there makes absolutely no difference to him.

Rinn’s typical lunch includes some multi-grain baby oatmeal, equal portions of pureed fruit and vegetable and a finger food; usually the baby version of Cheeto’s, which he doesn’t mind sharing. All store bought. There is not a chance in hell you’ll find me jumping on the bandwagon of that make-your-own-baby-food trend, gross. And I have much better things to do with my time like watch 80 episodes of Prison Break on Netflix or drink three Red Bulls and try on everything in my closet (which is how I track my weight loss.)

Post-lunch he gets a sippy cup of apple juice and water. I HATE the sippy cup.

He will drink the cup, but at his own leisure and only between episodes of waving it around like it’s caught on fire. I’m not sure how much juice is actually making it into his mouth however, because the end result looks something like this:

The shirt I get, but the back of your head Rinn? Really? It’s like the time I was out with friends and one of them managed to throw up on their own back and then tried to blame it on the cab driver. If I had the time, I’d run the necessary experiments to explain this little enigma but alas, someone needs a bath (and I need to get back to Prison Break.)

And for those of you in the market for a sippy cup avoid the Nuk Learner Cup at all costs, unless of course you enjoy tantrums, then by all means, be my guest.

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