Damn you American Idol

In an attempt at full disclosure and at the risk of looking like, well, a little bit of a loser, I am going to admit that I am just a little teary watching Idol Gives Back. That's right, my TV is set (in HDTV no less) at two and a half hours of weepy montages and appearances from the stars of radio, television and the requisite spattering of WWF wrestlers. So it is with some trepidation that I admit that this show is my muse for this post.

Zoe just turned 17 months old and I am not afraid to admit that she still gets a bottle before bed. That's a little bit of a lie, I typically keep the bottle giving under wraps. At the end of every can of formula (the formula thing is a whole other story) I promise myself that this will be it, that as soon as this can is empty we are breaking the habit; spoken like a true addict. Then, the next grocery shopping trip I find myself in the baby supply isle giving in, once again beginning the cycle. The reality is, Zoe could probably care less. Surely she no longer needs a bottle of formula before bed for nourishment. Experts in the field will tell you that the bottles become a source of comfort for the child, a security blanket of sorts. But frankly the source of comfort is for me. Since Zoe was born, our nighttime routine has remained the same, bath, jammies, bottle in the glider in her room.

As any first-time parent will tell you, raising your first child lends itself to a host of worries and concerns. It's not always a conscience feeling, but everyday there is some acknowledgement of the unpleasant ways in which the world sometimes works. With Zoe in our lives, there is a much more heighten sense of awareness of the proverbial bogeymen then before. So at the end of everyday I give Zoe a bottle, to me representing, if only for a few minutes, the slaying of the scary. The bottle symbolizes a day of success, a day where our daughter has experienced more happiness then not and now ends it squeaky clean, in a comfy bed, with a full belly; a day many other kids don't experience enough.

My name is Rebecca and I give my toddler a bottle. Please, no intervention.

PS. I know I've missed a couple days again. Prepare for this 30-day experiment to creep into May.