The sound of the glug glug as the bottle empties makes me smile.
Feeding Burt is a task. My wait time patience between spoonfuls is limited. I have to resort to a slow, silent count and to posture breaks.
Feeding Burt is also the one remaining intimacy we share. That and giving him to drink both foster a closeness. They are my service to him, and I am pleased to serve.
I still question my effectiveness. Is he getting enough?
Am I assuring that he eats a diversified diet?
Should I wake him to feed him?
this is our life 