When bottle beats breast...

I know, I know... breastfeeding is the best option. But being a man, it doesn't need explaining that I lack the necessary equipment to get directly involved.

All I can do is plump cushions, pass muslin squares and (when lucky ;-) catch some partially-digested milk on my shoulder as I attempt to burp the little 'un afterwards. If I get to thinking really hard about it, it makes me realise that I'm at the bottom of the heap - baby's at the top; Mum supports baby; and I support Mum (when I'm actually able to be around). Being at least two steps removed from a baby in the family relationship is a tough thing for a Mars-dwelling male to do, when we're so used to being able to try and fix problems directly.

So I was very excited when I got the chance to feed the little dude using a bottle of expressed milk one night recently (well, as excited as you can be when having just been woken by a screaming baby in the middle of the night).

Oscar tucked in like there was no tomorrow. Boy, can he suck! I think I enjoyed it even more than he did - it was so lovely to see his contented face as the milk drained from the bottle, and it was fantastic to feel like I was directly fulfilling a need he had.

It must be amazing to nurse a child naturally - to feel like you're able to give them all the fuel they need with no need for supporting technology or consumer goods - just two human beings connected directly together.

Wonderful.