Milk. A battle.

So, last week when we went to our beloved pediatrician for the wee one's well baby visit, we discovered that he is ... umm ... well ... wee.

He's a bit, shall we say, underweight. He has fallen from his robust 5th percentile for weight into a range where they don't even provide percentiles, but instead provide advice on feeding and nutrition for babies.

"So," says beloved pediatrician, "did the nurse show you the growth curve?"
"Ahh, no." I say, suddenly realizing that perhaps the wee one isn't as perfectly fine and healthy as I had assumed.
She turns around the chart to show me the graph.
"Oh." I say. And a sinking feeling presents itself in my stomach. Suddenly, my professional self, the registered nurse takes over, and we are discussing his complete refusal to drink milk, and ways to convince him otherwise. A plan is devised, and I am making mental notes and planning to stop at the grocery store on the way home.
"We'll watch it." she says, "Come back in 6 weeks for a weight check and his second dose of the flu vaccine."
My nurse self drives the boat for awhile. Shopping, brainstorming and devising sneaky ways to get some full fat dairy into my baby.  It isn't until I am in bed at night that the mama inside me raises her head and begins to voice her opinions.

I failed him.
I should have known. 
How could I have let it get to this point?
Bad mother.

Since then, we've embarked on a complete full-frontal-dairy-assault for the wee one.

Here's everything I bought:



Two trips to the grocery store.

Well gang, despite my best efforts, it's still not going all that well.
He hates carnation instant breakfast - all three flavors.
He hates drinkable yogurt. Even if I dilute it.
Here's what he did when I gave him some cheerios with milk.


Please note the splatter pattern extends to the computer monitor.

One day, when I adamantly refused to give him a cup with anything other than a milk product in it - he stood in front of the sink, pointing at the faucet, crying and saying "Cuppa!" in the most pitiful fashion. I caved.

We have had one minute success. He will eat graham crackers with some yobaby yogurt for dipping. Not much, mind you, but it's a start.




You just know he made a horrible mess.

For now I am quieting the horrible self-recrimination and judgement with vigilant action. Feeding him has become my obsession, my mission.

Anyone ever has a similar situation? Got any advice?

We'll see where we're at in 6 weeks.