Blogging world: I love you more than Kit Kats I love you more than I loved Nicolas Cage in Valley Girl when I was 14. I love you more than I love Flavor of Love Girls: Charm School Starring Mo’Nique, and that’s saying something.

Close to 100 wise moms and new favorite people have chimed in with their supportive tales of bottle woe and bizarre but effective feeding techniques. I’m glad now that I’ve narrowed down the solutions to either definitely give Sage formula or definitely give her breast milk or a combination of both, possibly with brandy (Thanks Mrs. Q). And I should definitely feed her myself or otherwise someone else should definitely feed her. And it should definitely be done while she’s cradled very very close. Or held at arm’s length. Or placed in a bouncy chair while I sit behind her with my hands wrapped in blankets. Definitely.

Also, the nature of the issue can be pinpointed to either my breast milk, the temperature, the bottle, the nipple, the feeding technique, her digestive system, her age, the smell of my clothes, or as Phoenix understands, Sage’s birth sign.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way.

I have read every one of your bottle suggestions, taken notes, and even sent my mother off to the dreaded Big Baby Stuff Store while I worked last week to procure “one of each.”

So far the oddsmakers in Vegas are giving the Playtex whatsitcalled with the condoms inside, 2:1 odds as the favored bottle. Sage latched right onto the nipple which feels so remarkably breast-like that I’m sure Bill Maher would get off on it, even if he did complain if I whipped one out at Applebees. She only took about a half an ounce but that’s a start.

But there may be two dark horses in the race. Thanks to the very progressive VDog and Anniemom and Dee and for recomending the non toxin-leaching adiri nurser. If it’s not genius marketing to call it a nurser instead of a bottle, I don’t know what is. And then Laura, Blog Antagonist, Crunchy Domestic Goddess and Bub and Pie suggested the Breastbottle. Seriously, have you seen these things? They could get you thrown off a Delta flight for sure. I’m going to try both.

And if all else fails, there’s always Jaelithe’s fantasy solution:

Male lactation.

It’s hard to believe, but I only got one weird lactivist email from an Uber-Boober, oddly presented as “support.” And it had lots of CAPITAL LETTERS for emphasis, as in “I delivered at the NUMBER ONE hospital in the nation for breastfeeding.”

NUMBER ONE, people!

The gist of her email was that “it’s not human nature” for a mother to work a 9-5 job (Ha! If only it were 9-5!) and that I should just try to enjoy this beautiful, beautiful time and not give Sage a bottle or else.

Or else what?

I swear this is what the email said:

-She’ll take it out on me when she’s 13
-She’ll grow up to be a juvenile delinquent with a gun
-Like a kitten separated from its mother too early, she’ll pee on my walls.

I wonder how my e-mailer will feel when I make the big “I’ve weaned, and Sage isn’t even 5 years old yet!” announcement.

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Edited to add: I’ve received a heartfelt apology from my emailer insisting that she was just joking. Apology accepted. Moral of the story: Breastfeeding is hard. Comedy is harder.