I was grateful to momma for giving me the bottle to drink on my own, at least I could get the taste of the worse meal of my (adult?) life out of my mouth. Even infant formula would taste better than squash.
Momma waited until Gino had finished about three-quarters of his bottle before she picked him up and winded him, freeing a petite infant burp from his stomach, then she did the same to me. When my time came, I loosed a long guttural belch that sounded so loud, I could have sworn it should have echoed from the walls. I wanted to die in embarrassment.
Momma took Gino out of the playpen and left me to finish my bottle while she pot him in bed for the night.