Yes, I realize you’re probably as surprised as I am. But there I was, struggling with a screaming child, wishing for the first time in my life — and, God willing, the last — that I was sporting a lactating breast, when a solution occurred to me. This was not the sort of “meandering, eventually finds it way into your frontal lobe” sort of occurrence, this was more of the “slap in the forehead” type.

See, I was able to get Grace to take a pacifier for extremely short periods of time whilst I struggled to find another possible position with which to convince her that the bottle was actually her mother’s breast. (To completely no avail, by the way.) And then — SMACK! — it occurred to me that perhaps, perchance, just maybe, the problem was that she didn’t like being smacked in the lips with the hard plastic top of the bottle. “After all,” thought I, “isn’t this the basic difference between one of these Nuk pacifiers and the bottle?” Well, if you don’t count all the stuff that comes out of the end of one and not the other, but you know what I’m getting at.

So I grabbed one of the pacifiers (sorry, Abby!) and cut a whole in the middle of it. It now resembles something like a large rubber washer. I plopped it over the nipple so it would rest between the bottle and Grace and… (did I mention I might be a certifiable genius?) it worked like a charm.

Ah… the sweet sound of success: a happily (greedily) feeding baby.

Char leaves for three days in the morning, leaving me with all four kids (4, 2 1/2, and 5 month twins, one of which refuses to take a bottle.) And where is Grandma? One in Florida, one in North Carolina. Am I worried? You bet.

On the other hand, I’m the Dad, they’re my munchkins, so I can do this, right? I mean, I can do this. (That sounded a little more confident.) Ah, who am I kidding? The house will be destroyed when she gets back, but maybe we’ll qualify for disaster relief funds.

Looking forward to this like a toothache, but I’m reminded that Teresa Heinz-Kerry thinks that being a mother isn’t a real job. Maybe I should have her come watch the kids. Or, better yet, maybe I should just employ her cure for arthritis.

But I digress… my real question today is this: Does anyone have any tips for getting a baby to take a bottle? The answer might just save my life.

One last reminder… today (November 16) is Prematurity Awareness Day, which, of course, goes hand-in-hand with the March of Dimes campaign to save these babies’ lives. You may remember from a previous post that there are several things you can do to help, from signing the petition asking Congress to increase funding to making a donation to spreading the word.

To celebrate the event, there are a variety of activities planned both in Washington and across the country. Of special interest to Blog Exposion surfers: a “live blog” that will feature pictures, interviews, celebrity blogging and an interactive photo quilt.

From the March of Dimes:

This is a very special day for premature babies and their families – other parents, grandparents, children, friends, health care providers and advocates. To raise awareness of premature birth, the March of Dimes is hosting a series of events in Washington, D.C., and all across the country, that will include a “Moment of Hope” lighting ceremony. In D.C., the Wilson Building on Freedom Plaza will be lit with a signature display of pink and blue lights.

Across our nation, many buildings and landmarks also will be illuminated in pink and blue, including:

• Niagara Falls
• New York’s Con Ed Building
• Philadelphia’s Benjamin Franklin Bridge and CIGNA Building
• Chicago’s 311 S. Wacker Drive and La Salle-Wacker Towers
• Boston’s Leonard Zakim Bunker Hill Bridge
• Miami’s Bank of America Building
• Louisville’s Gas & Electric Building
• Detroit’s Blue Cross/Blue Shield Building
• San Antonio’s Tower of the Americas on Hemisphere Plaza
• Portland’s Liberty Center

On Prematurity Awareness Day, you can be the voice for babies born too soon. Support the March of Dimes as we call for a 50% increase in federal funding for research into the causes of premature birth.

So I had been having this weird sort of pain in my tooth (#7, if you must know) when I brushed. A wierd sort of “icepick to the brain through my nose” sort of pain. So I went to the dentist (even though the pain had stopped), and she leaned me back in the chair and began saying things like “Hmmm…” and “Uh huh…” and “Interesting…” She popped the seat back up and said, “We’re going to get an x-ray of that” and then everyone began moving sort of quickly.

Cut to the chase: I had a “condition” called root resorption, whereby the body, for as-yet-unknown reasons, decides it wants the tooth back, and begins dissolving it from the inside. Odd, not understood, and fairly rare.

And that was how I came to be sitting in the chair of the endodontist, having a root canal, a mere 24 hours later. He was saying things like “Hmmm…” and “Interesting…” and “$700, please.”

Fast forward another few hours to about 1:30am, when I woke up in excruciating pain. “From the tooth,” you’re wondering? “No,” says I. “from the kidney stone.”

So, with Ma in her kerchief and the kids dreaming about sugar plums, I did a quick search on WebMD for the “call you doctor immediately” signs related to kidney stones. I had every condition on the list. So I told Char I was leaving and drove myself to the emergency room. Gingerly, but quickly.

Fast forward another few hours, a dose of toridal and two doses of morphine, an xray and an MRI (why, I haven’t the foggiest idea), and the doctor is standing over me saying things like “Hmmm…” and “Interesting…” and “Go home, take some Vicodin, and this too, shall pass.”

Oh, and they also said, “$3,600, please.”

The moral of this story? I’m not sure. How about: “Drink cranberry juice”.

I’ve recently completed the final book in Stephen King’s Dark Tower series. Seven books and thousands of pages later, I can only say, “Ka [fate, destiny] is a wheel.” If you haven’t read any of these — and you particularly like long, epic stories — then you should read these (even if you don’t consider yourself a fan). Start at the beginning with “The Gunslinger“, which opens with the memorable line:

“The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.”

To me, at least, very possibly the equal of “Call me Ishmael.”

Now I’ve moved on to “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time“, a book I have been wanting to read for some time and have only just begun. It’s about an autistic boy who sets out to solve a murder mystery — the death of a neighborhood dog. So far, it’s fascinating. I’ll keep you posted.