The Secret Formula

Sorry, Charles, another day is going to pass with me not blogging about you. But wait, I just did, now you don't have to ask.

Anyway...I feel like an alcoholic staring at a bottle of vodka, afraid to drink, but yet so tempted. A week or so ago the pediatrician recommended that I supplement Nora with formula. My nursing has been waning, and I was starting to supplement with whole milk. Since she still needs more nutrients formula would be best, but something in me could not bring myself to buy it at Target last week. I wish I could explain why I am like this. Plenty of kids get their fair share of vitamins and what not from formula. Hell I was raised on formula! But for some reason I just don't want it in my kids. And to be honest it probably would be better for her than the breast milk I create made out of the more than occasional glass of wine and an unbalanced diet, but I can't do it. I am just as content to let her iron levels continue to drop while I give her whole milk.
My friend Marnie has been listening to this saga, and can't believe that I just won't suck it up and give her s damn bottle of formula. So today she turns up on my doorstep with a can of formula and a jug of nursery water. I think she was trying to be nice, but I couldn't help but feel like she was telling me what to do, but my sister made me get over it. As I was unloading the dishwasher I made Nora a bottle. It was like a scene from a movie as the alcoholic pours the drink and stares at it. I am still not sure if she will even get the bottle.
The only thing that I am sure of is that I am more comfortable leaving her sleeping in her crib while I run down the street to pick up Abby than I am giving her formula.

What the fuck is my problem?