My kid has become observant enough to comprehend sights and interpret sounds and make associations to them, namely to say she recognizes the bottle, is familiar with the sound of the bottle warmer, and subsequently goes nuclear when she thinks it’s time to eat because clearly she must be starving to death and is wasting away at that very juncture in time.

Needless to say in order to adjust to such behaviors, mythical wife and I try to be as discreet as possible when it comes to pulling bottles from the fridge and getting them to the warmer, so she doesn’t notice, and subsequently begin screaming bloody murder.

I feel like we’ve become something along the equivalents of prisoners, where we have to sneak the bottles around like we’re handing off shanks, and we’ve been practicing trying to be slight of hand when it comes to keeping the bottle out of sight, and since there’s little we can do about the sound of the warmer, we typically have to keep her out of ear’s reach once it starts ticking away for 9-10 minutes.

No, I still have no regrets or unhappiness about parenting, but I do find it greatly amusing the correlations between prison inmates and new parents.