I think baby food looks like baby poop. I won't go into any more detail than that because it is pretty self explanatory right there.
However, Roman does not think it tastes like poop - or else I really hope he doesn't or we have one weird little man on our hands. He had his first tastes this week (Mum Confession: I slipped him the tiniest of tiny tastes of mango a few weeks ago. If he develops Crohns or Ulcerative Colitis then I guess I will blame it on this incident).
Carrot and potato.
I had a bit of a freak-out because Bryan (whoseneverlookedafterababyeverbeforeinhislife) didn't cook the carrots properly. They were mushy, but not mushy enough. I would say that I am pretty much a diva, but when it comes to my baby...I am a Godzilla Diva.
I don't get diva about a lot of things, but when I do...you better shut up, do what I ask or leave the room. I don't know where my diva outbursts were learnt - certainly not at home, definitely not at church and most certainly not at school. I think time and time again I got pretty sick of being nice to people so much and one day I think I spontaneously combusted and haven't looked back since. And I am glad. Because when I throw a hissy fit, things get done. Positive and useful things.
In my childhood home arguing was the order of the day. We were like a mini law society, each fighting our own corner and I absolutely thrived on that atmosphere - sounds like Social Services should have been called, but it wasn't that sort of arguing.
With Bryan I argue and he rolls his eyes (behind my back of course...imagine if he did it to my face, he'd have his head metaphorically ripped off his shoulders in no time). Sometimes, just sometimes he says something back and wins - it's rare but does happen - or there might be times where I even think he has a point to what he says. I can categorically state right now that this phenomenon has never happened with any man I have been involved romantically with - in my eyes the only smart thing they have done with their life is to date me. Don't I sound just catty? I say these things with a pinch of sarcasm and a huge dose of humour, naturally...but perhaps there's a smidgen of reality as well.
So, back to the carrots. I asked Bryan to cook them until they were like mush - very, very mushy mush. I know what I'm talking about because I've seen how mushy little people with no teeth need their food. So he cooked them and served them up. They were chunky. They were not mushy mush. I think I flew off into a rage - Bryan can tell you the exact details if you need to know - and this rage was all because of carrots. What the heck? I am out of control at times and I know. Bryan knows it. I think even Roman knows it.
Like a good husband does, he said nothing. Then he took the baby and slinked off to Tesco...I was still ranting as he left - I don't know who I was talking too, I was just mad as hell. While I was at home in floods of tears - eh, hello, again what the hell? The Good Husband (like the Good Samaritan, but better) picked up a few jars of baby food.
Also, it wasn't "mum's choice" and not because I didn't personally go along and select a couple jars of baby poop...sorry, I mean baby food jars from the shelves of our local Tesco. Mum's choice was to feed baby exclusively on breast milk for the first six months of his life - this is so unreasonable for so many reasons in our circumstances and I will just say we have a hungry man on our hands and leave the judgements for every one else to make because I am not listening.
Mum's choice was to buy fresh vegetables and cook them up and serve to baby. I know these baby food jars claim to have no preservatives etc. in them but I find it a little gross that mushed up veg has been sitting on a shelf for so long. Either way, the Boy loved his first solids (I try to pretend that doesn't remind me of poop) and he couldn't get enough of the stuff - literally. I didn't want to push his digestive system too much too soon so we only offered him a few spoonfuls at every feed.
I think I was so emotionally charged about feeding him his solids because it means a break in breastfeeding - it comes very welcomed, but it does mark another bitter-sweet milestone and is a reminder that he won't stay tiny for long. I was literally a mess that we'd "screwed up" his first feed. I wanted it to be perfect. I know that is a ridiculous expectation, but I can't help this need to make everything I do just perfect, especially when it comes to Baby Boy.
He of course didn't notice anything going on other than his nappy needed changed and his tummy was empty, so why can't I be more like him in my attitude towards life? Relaxed. Secure. Confident that maybe this time and a few other times after it that things really will be okay. Because it was and all it needed was a dose of Bryan and a jar of baby food to make things just fine.
