Bottle equals

Not a bad weekend, Friday was on babysitting duty and, as is becoming her habit now, 9:15pm the missus walks in from work. Looks at me. Looks at the baby bottle. Looks back at me. Picks up the baby bottle and shakes it. Looks back at me. Walks into the kitchen….

I know what she’s thinking of course. Her theory.... is that the more the baby smasher drinks his bedtime milk the sounder he’ll sleep that night. The sounder he sleeps the less he’s likely to wake up in the night, so the more she’ll get some kip.
So, when she comes in of an evening she’s subconsciously questioning my parenting skills. Of course she is, it’s simple:
Bottle empty = daddy worked long and hard into the evening making sure baby drank all his milk.
Bottle not empty = daddy was lack lusture in his parenting duties and he probably carted the smasher up to bed the second his eyes drifted off…
So, she comes back in from the kitchen and begins her interrogation, even though I am patently watching Will & Grace!…
So, how were they? OK?…Fred get drink his bottle ok then? (erm, what does she think? I empty some of it down the sink or summat?…she can see how much I managed to get him to drink for fucks sake!)..
She my be a thorough interrogator, she may know which buttons to push with me, how to get to the truth (even though she can’t handle the truth!) but what went on, and continues to go on between me and the baby smasher is something between him and me….And I won’t break. And he can’t talk....