Feed Yourself

Because I am sick of doing it.

When my friend Greta's kids were small, and I was childless, she used to complain that she hated feeding them. I thought it was hilarious. I mean, you gotta feed your kids, she's a good cook, and how hard can it be? Her kids were a bit of a pain when it came to eating, I guess, and they did not want whatever it was that she made, kind of like how republicans don't like whatever it is President Obama makes. They won't even taste it. In the case of Greta's food, I can't believe it, as I love her food. In the second case, I'll reserve comment for kittywhumpus.

Now, here I am, in the kitchen, with my son strapped into his high chair. He jams as much finger food as he can into his mouth, and when it's too much, he pushes it all out like a perverse little Play-Do fun factory. When he's mad or done, or he just does not like what you got, he thrashes and pushes the spoon away.

I hate it.

It is not charming.

I think it's because breastfeeding is so no-fuss and relatively no-muss. Just whip it out and insert into mouth. Aside from the occasional biting, it's a pretty sweet deal. Getting food ready, cutting it into bits, or spooning it into his baby bird gob is not nearly as easy or clean.

So he wants to do it himself?
Fine with me.



The best thing about day care?

They feed him.