Chapter 6 - THE BOTTLESMaya’s unfinished sentence in the ambulance was:
“Your mom changed the bottles.”
Not formula.
Not medication.
Timing.
Noah was being combo-fed because Maya’s milk supply was still establishing after the hemorrhage.
We had a written schedule from the pediatrician.
Offer breast.
Then measured supplemental formula as needed.
Record intake.
Mom hated the schedule.
She believed babies should be fed only when “truly hungry.”
At one point Noah cried while Maya was cooking.
Maya moved toward the bassinet.
Mom said:
“He ate an hour ago.”
“He’s six days old.”
“You’ll make him dependent.”
He was a newborn.
Dependence was literally the arrangement.
Maya prepared a bottle.
Mom took it.
Said:
“I’ll handle him.”
Then gave only part of it before setting it aside because she believed he was “comfort sucking.”
Noah continued crying.
Maya tried to take him.
Mom told her the chicken was raw.
Maya abandoned the stove and picked up her baby anyway.
That may have been the moment the situation could have ended.
Instead Mom said:
“Fine. Burn dinner.”
Maya went back.
Noah received the rest later.
He was not starved.
Not medically harmed.
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But Mom had inserted herself into a newborn feeding plan she had no authority to change.
That mattered to Maya more than the chicken.
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