On Strike

This Saturday was a day we’d all been waiting for—John’s older brother married the wonderful woman we love as Aunt Ceci. There was a beautiful Mass with a homily that gave me good chills (“We are seeing a family be created today . . . Something that has never existed before is about to come into being”—wow!), followed by a reception where Jacob danced with/chased a couple of little girls around all evening. We all had a great time!

. . . except Henry.

Henry has refused to nurse since Karl and Cecilia exchanged their vows. Before Mass, he nursed well. Every time I tried to feed him afterward, he bit me. Later that night and into the next morning, he didn’t even bother biting; he just screamed, arching himself away from me.

We’ve been to the doctor. It’s not an ear infection. It’s not coxsackie. It could be teething, but neither Tylenol nor Motrin is improving his condition. And I think I know why.

 
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He wanted to marry Cecilia.

He watched his uncle take her for his own, and he’s miffed. I get it. She’s great—she’s beautiful, she’s funny, she’s sweet, she’s faithful. But it was never going to happen. The rest of us can tell just by looking at Karl and Cecilia together that they were made for each other. I called it before I even met her, just from the changes I’d seen in Karl. All the good parts of him shone a little brighter.

But Henry’s not willing to go down without a fight, it seems. Maybe he’s heard how much Cecilia loves Newsies and thinks a strike—nursing or otherwise—will win her heart. Sorry, little man, but what’s done is done. It’s time to move on. I’m sure you’ll always have a special place in her heart.

For now, let’s get back to being a baby, okay?