The Milk Cup

The Milk Cup

With Little Diva, we had a hard time getting her off of the bottle.  (No, not “the bottle.” We still let her have her whiskey.  Hell, we all need to slam one back now and then to ease the stresses of life.  I mean, her baby bottle as in the one filled with milk.)

So, one of the ways we (of course meaning me) got her to stop using the bottle (other than the bribes, tears, begging and signing over our home to her), we found her a special milk cup.  This was the cup in which all milk would from that day forward be presented to her.  It was The Milk Cup.  Do not even try to offer her any other cup for her milk.  If you try to offer it in a sippy cup (Oh GOD NO NOT THE DREADED SIPPY CUP! YOU MUST HATE ME MOM!), it would be refused and crying (hers and mine) would ensue and there would be great gnashing of teeth and flailing about. 

Everyone knows this.  Milk is offered only in The Milk Cup.  Never any other cup.  (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD NOT THE SIPPY CUP BECAUSE IT IS INHERENTLY EVIL!!) This has gone on for a year.  (Don’t judge my parenting.  Call your mom up and talk to her.  Except you, Buzz.  I love your mom, so clearly, it wasn’t her fault.)

Tonight disaster struck.

The Milk Cup has been lost.  Did you hear me?  THE MILK CUP HAS BEEN LOST!  I seemed to be the only family member to understand the situation.  I ran through the house shrieking, “WHERE IS THE MILK CUP??!  WE MUST FIND THE MILK CUP!” Finally, nearly depleated of all energy and gradually losing my will to live, I look at Little Diva and beg her to tell me what she did with The Milk Cup.

“I was finished with it.  I threw it away.”

“YOU WHAT?” I screeched at my poor child.  “But it was The Milk Cup.  Why would you possibly throw away The Milk Cup?”

*shrug* “Mommy, go get The Milk Cup.  It is in the trash.”

Yes.  The trash.  The trash that my son had already taken out.  The trash that was now in the outside trash can.  Where bugs live.  Where diseases go to breed.  That trash can.  *shudder* But I go.  And I look.  I cannot find it.  I CANNOT FIND THE MILK CUP.

I gather my wits about me and begin to think of a way to handle this. 

I go to Little Diva and say, “Sweetie, it’s time for your milk, but we can’t find The Milk Cup.  Would it be okay if I just give it to you in, say, a sippy cup?”

After a very long pause and I can only assume some internal debating, she looked at me and replied, “Ummmmm, okay.”

“What?!  Did you hear me?  I said that we can’t find The Milk Cup and we have to serve it to you in the OH GOOD LORD NOT THE EVIL SIPPY CUP.  PLEASE NOT THE SOURCE OF ALL EVIL IN TODDLERVILLE SIPPY CUP.  And you said so nonchalantly ‘That’s okay.’ Do you not understand?!  It’s gone,” I wept.  “The Milk Cup is Gone.”

“That’s okay, Mommy.  I don’t need it.”

She hugs me. Then she takes her milk in the DREADED EVIL GOD HELP US ALL sippy cup, and walks off.

My husband just looks at me and shrugs and so foolishly says, “It doesn’t look like it even mattered to her. It is just a cup, you know.”

But it was The Milk Cup. And now it is gone.  And apparently, I am the only one who cared in the first place.  Isn’t there some rule that says that kids have to let parents know when they outgrow a comfort item so that said parent doesn’t become obsessed trying to locate this item.  Isn’t there some alarm that goes off somewhere that says it is okay to move on.  They really shouldn’t wait until panic ensues to let us know.  I mean, seriously, that is just inconsiderate!

So, now long after the bottle is gone, The Milk Cup joins it and has also left us. Fortunately for me, I have not given up my bottle.  So, if you will excuse me, I am going to go pour the content of my bottle into a GOOD LORD NOT THE DREADED EVIL I CANNOT GO ON IF YOU TORTURE ME LIKE THIS sippy cup and enjoy the rest of my night.


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