08 August 2012

Milk (mustache)

I started fretting over the imminent switch to whole milk when Henry was about 9 months old. I'm good at fretting and like to indulge in a healthy dose every now and then. I read and read and read.  I developed a plan. It was simple: we would begin a slow transition at 11 months and he would be drinking nothing but milk by the time his first birthday rolled around.  Happily, Henry was already drinking his formula with meals out of a straw cup, so the timing and procedure didn't present anything new.

Nature had other plans.  

On a pleasant Friday afternoon, I drove by Target and thought that I really should stop and pick up some formula (Henry was drinking the Up&Up generic and we were down to a few remaining scoops).  I rationalized that we would undoubtedly need something else later in the weekend; it would be prudent to wait.  And then the derecho swept through and my prudent plans blew out the window.  Target lost power and we had no more formula.  I did what anyone with power and a carefully detailed transition-to-milk plan would do: I found an operating grocery store and bought milk.  The boy needed a drink, after all!  Drink he did and we bid a quick farewell to formula and to my fretting, which had all been for naught.
The best part of Henry's new affair with milk is that we now have delicious, creamy whole milk in the house. A longtime soy (with a short splash of almond and oat) milk devotee, I have rediscovered just how wonderful a bowl of cereal with real milk can be!

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