Sometimes, this whole “being a parent” thing hits you, and it’s usually at times you wouldn’t expect. My latest wave of realisation came one evening last week. I was chilling on the couch, Little Mister sat on my knee, watching a re-run of Dance Moms, whilst he was munching away on some blueberry tapioca crackers (as an aside, although the packaging says “mess free”, I have a purple crusted pair of joggers that would beg to differ). I couldn’t stop watching him, feeding him-self, when it only felt such a short time ago we were decorating the nursery and picking out bottles. And he looked so content, cracker in hand, smiling away at Abby Lee Miller whilst she passive aggressively crushed the dreams of some child. Then he blew a raspberry with a mouthful of cracker everywhere and kind of bust me out of the moment. I think it’s the finger foods that are making it hit home, that Little Mister is starting those first steps to feeding independence in what feels like no time at all.
It had been a long, rainy day of shopping. Little Mister needed a new bath chair (we had been using his new-born bath seat still, but as he was able to launch out of it by himself it had to go…), and we had been in and out of shops all day. Something easy for dinner loomed; something hot and chicken-y. So as we were sat in KFC, my baby boy lunged from my lap to make a snatch at my fries. I took it as a sign that he was ready to begin the long, messy process of weaning (even if I wasn’t ready…, naively I thought it would be a choice to wait until 6 months before we would start). Before this point we had tried a couple of tastes; baby rice and avocado. Both didn’t go down well, so it was with a little trepidation we started with real food.