This whole blog thing is becoming a beast. A thorn. A pounder. I have built pressure on myself and my kid to be catchy and funny and cute everyday. That’s just not always possible. Thank goodness it’s Friday. This weekend we have big plans that will surely fill the blog for next week -- Walmart, one-year-protrait, painting, cleaning ...
Found out yesterday Jack doesn’t like cooked carrots. Have to say, not a big fan myself. He detests them so much he doesn’t even want them on his high chair tray.
He didn’t think I noticed him drop one little carrot square at a time. He thought I was too busy (shelling out banana/strawberry yogurt and some sort of baby pasta dish I will never get him again) to notice his little hand slip to the outside and let them go one by one.
Dink. One little mushy carrot square.
Jack is not a big fan of pasta. I know I’ve said it before but every time I think he’s never going to get it again, Husband serves him some and he gobbles it. He ain’t gobblin’ it for me. Yesterday I was rushing him so we could go for a 5+ mile walk and get back in time for my favorite sickeningly trashy reality show. (Priorities people!!) So dinner took forever.
He would let me put the spoon in his mouth. He would suck off the tomato sauce. Nibble on the noodle and spit out the meat. Sometimes the noodle would come out whole; sometimes chunks; sometimes he’d slip up and eat the whole thing.
Dink. One little mushy carrot square.
So I started rotating the dinner with the yogurt. He’s too smart for that jazz.
So then I tried frozen peas. I steamed them up and put them on his tray. Mixed reviews. I was surprised because he loves baby-blended peas. Sometimes I think he prefers to just suck down his food. No chewing -- that takes too much effort.
Dink. One little mushy carrot square.
I just gave up. I handed him a little fishie.
I just think he doesn’t have his appetite totally back yet. When Husband and I got dinner later, he ate bites. Maybe that’s the thing. He hates to eat dinner by himself. He wants to be included in everything.
He munched the fishy a bit but then wanted me to know he was done. He does this by a) grabbing the spoon out of your hand and throwing it b) swinging his arms to block any chance of the spoon reaching his mouth c) pounding on his tray and watching the food fly.
Last night he chose d) all of the above.
Good thing I had a white shirt on. Good thing.
They should invent a bib for the mom because when it was all over, I had sauce in awkward places and I smelled liked little mushy carrot squares.
Dink. The last little mushy carrot square.
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