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“Formula one, slow-flow teat,” Jack instructed.
Ben handed him the bottle. The boys stood by to watch the baby’s response. Having sniffed the nappy that had been dropped into the nursery bucket, Spike lined up with them. All eyes were on the teat going into Charlotte’s mouth.
“She’s sucking,” Ben said excitedly.
“Yeah, but is she getting any?” Gary questioned.
The little jaws worked away for a minute or so and gave up. She spat the teat, screwed up her face and bawled her frustration.
Jack’s stomach started tying itself in knots again. He checked the level of formula in the bottle. Hardly any gone. “Medium flow,” he commanded, willing himself to stay on top of the crisis despite his misgivings about Charlotte’s willingness to adapt to adverse circumstances.
Ben took the discard bottle. Gary handed him the next tryout. Spike whined at the strange pup. She stopped her weird barking and looked at him. Jack shoved the new teat into her mouth, and Charlotte latched onto it. She sucked. Not for long. Her mouth turned down, and the formula dribbled out the corners of it. “Yuk!” was written all over her face.
“I can tell you, kid,” Jack said sharply. “None of it’s going to taste exactly like mother’s milk.” He heard himself cracking and appreciated, for the first time, how a baby could reduce even the most reasonable adult to a quivering wreck. He pulled himself back from the brink and got on with the job, handing the bad-taste bottle to Gary. “Formula one’s a reject. Let’s try formula two, medium flow.”
Jack wiped away all trace of the yukky dribble before offering the next bottle. He didn’t want Charlotte to get confused, thinking it was the same taste. She needed food. One way or another, he had to get it right for her.
She attacked the new teat like a threshing machine. For the next five minutes it looked as though formula two was a winner. Then her stomach staged a revolt. The formula came back out like a gusher. The towels took a beating. Gary removed them to the laundry. Ben brought some more. Jack did his best to soothe Charlotte, holding her up to his shoulder and patting comfort. She vomited down his back.
Nightmare alley, Jack thought, struggling to keep his anxiety under control. Spike examined the mess and decided not to lick it up. Gary manfully took on the cleaning duty. Jack juggled Charlotte as Ben helped him strip off his soiled shirt.
Having emptied her stomach, Charlotte yelled for more f
ood. “Formula three, medium flow,” Jack called, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. He settled her on his arm again and addressed her on the seriousness of the situation. “This is the last stop, Charlotte. You’ve run out of choices. Think about it.”
“Maybe we should try slow flow again, Jack,” Ben suggested anxiously. “Let her get used to the taste before it hits her tummy.”
Jack nodded, his mind almost numb with the possibility of all-out disaster. “Good thinking. Go slow might do the trick.”
Ben quickly swapped the bottles, and they all held their breaths as Charlotte started working the teat, more cautiously this time. She had a brooding look on her face. Her eyes clung to Jack’s. “This is the good stuff,” he crooned. At this point, propaganda was his last resort.
Her face slowly cleared of the suspicion they were poisoning her. Her sucking settled into a steady rhythm, and the content in the bottle gradually lowered.
“We’ve got it,” Ben crowed.
“That’s the one, all right,” Gary happily agreed.
Jack’s nerves sang a song of relief. To keep the sense of a positive roll moving forward, he directed the logical conclusion to this critical exercise.
“Okay, guys. We throw out the first two formulas and put the slow teats on the other two bottles of this lot. Store them in the fridge for later.”
He hoped Charlotte was storing this formula in her memory cells and would recognise it as the good stuff at future feeds. Scientific process was fine in theory, but human beings were both contrary and unpredictable. Jack had been shaken into an acute realisation that he was holding a miniature human being with a mind and stomach of its own, who was totally dependent on his meeting its needs. It was a highly sobering and humbling experience.
“Do we use the sterilising solution for the spare bottles now, Jack?” Gary checked.
“Yes. Wash them up and dob them in.”
High on success, the boys went back to kitchen duty. Spike remained on watch, his canine mind intent on collecting a bank of information on this new species of pup. Jack gradually relaxed, happy that Charlotte had apparently accepted the inevitable, at least for the time being. Maybe the surrender was due to exhaustion or hopeless resignation, but Jack preferred to look on the brighter side. His kid was not about to die of thirst or starvation. Thus far she was safe with him. As he’d promised her she would be.
“Your mum would be proud of you, Charlotte,” he told her. “This is a big step to take for a little kid, and you’re doing great.”
The teat dropped out as she hiccupped.
Was this another protest on the way? “Got some wind?” Jack asked hopefully.
He put the bottle on the table so he could give her back a gentle rub. Two big burps. No sicking up. He grinned at the boys, who had stopped work to watch the outcome. “No worries,” he assured them, almost dizzy with relief as he settled Charlotte onto his other arm.
“See? Your dad can change sides just like your mum. Here comes the good stuff.” He didn’t care if he looked or sounded fatuous. He zoomed the bottle down to her mouth, and she latched on again. He felt a rush of paternal pride. “You’re a champion kid, Charlotte. A real fast learner.”
