Today I fed my year-old baby pre-packaged baby food.
That may not sound like much of an accomplishment…unless you too have bravely faced the challenge, knowing you are going to be showered in it.
I love how easily you can excite a baby. I love to sit my little man down in his high chair and fake my enthusiasm as I begin to open a jar of
‘honey cured ham and green veggie mix’ (ewwwwhhhaa.) and smile broadly (holding back the instinctive gag reflex as the fetid aroma assaults my senses.)
“Are you excited?” I say, overly chipper, covering a cough so it looks like I am sharing a laugh with him.
He begins to clap his pudgy hands, beaming a toothless grin- having no idea what’s coming. (Actually- I have no idea what’s coming back AT ME…in more ways than one…)
So, with my plastered-on phony grin, getting him ‘keyed up’ for lunch, I patiently wait for his laugh- when his mouth will be wide open. (This will go so much faster if he’s happy and ‘ready’ to eat)
He giggles, shrieking his excitement, and like a cobra lying in wait- I strike and thrust a spoonful of unidentifiable yellow goop into his open mouth.
His mouth immediately clamps shut, and his happy shriek comes to an abrupt end.
He stares at me, stone-faced, humor completely gone.
He’s eyeing me; I’m warily eyeing him back.
I wonder if he is going to swallow- and he’s still deciphering whether I’ve poisoned him with my vegetarian shepherd’s pie.
I’m biting back a grin. He’s biting his tongue.
All the while I’m thinking, “Better you than me kid…”
That’s when I realize that my son is gifted- and he can read minds.
Why is it, that the day I am actually dressed before ten, have spent time in the bathroom fixing my hair (a rarity), is the day I stuff my baby’s mouth full of 'veggie-ham-cured-ick-I-would-never-eat-even-if-it-was-the-last-thing-on-earth-when-the-economy-crashes-and-the-world-ends-and- heck-no-not-even-then-would-I-eat-this-stuff.'
My son looks like a self-indulgent squirrel, cheeks distended beyond their capacity and loaded with ammunition…
BOOM! It happens like lightning.
And. My. Baby. Explodes.
He shoots out the world’s biggest fart-sounding raspberry into my face, splattering the table, the high chair…the counter…the floor….(my dog enjoyed that…gross- I know…but I have a live-in vacuum cleaner… still gross …) And heaven forbid- THE HAIR.
I begin to whimper, “Why honey cured ham?” And then I look at my clothes. Ugh, the smell….
“WHY!!!!???” I scream at the ceiling, knowing full well no one can hear me, and my theatrics are pitiful in front of an audience of one- who actually finds my performance rather amusing. He begins to squeal again, clapping, covered in his own goop, talking and saying, “mamamamama”
So, still engaging in my dramatics, he takes me by surprise- again.
Because like that over-indulgent squirrel, he still has a stash buried in those fat pockets for cheeks. Because, lightening can strike twice.
So he makes up for what he missed the first time. This assault comes as more of a surprise than the first, because I figured he’d used up all his ammo on the first round.
My right shoulder reeks, the buttons of my shirt are dripping with ‘ham-cured’ whatever, and the mustard/pea yellow- (a color not found on the color wheel) is a shocking contrast against my blue polo- and I am now involuntarily entered into TLC’s ‘What Not To Wear’.
Despite the food label’s ‘organic’ banner on the jar- you have to wonder what the heck is in it. (Since there are toxic fumes rising from my shoulder and dripping from my hair.) I understand the green veggies most likely grew in the dirt covered with nothing other than organic compost, but does it have to smell like the compost?
My son not only annihilates me this time, he automatically wins the next round too. Because in two hours…I am going to be forced to ‘change’ whatever he’s digested and processed.
The colors that appear in a diaper are like seasonal changes in the fall.
He continues to coo and shriek happily, pounding those chubby hands on top his high chair, splattering a pool of the ‘mystery’ food all over the tray and allowing the ham-cured ‘nasty’ to slide down his mouth and ooze from his chin.
I begin to wonder if regurgitated green veggies have EVER come out quite that shade before…
It was never food to begin with in his eyes (or mine. What IS that stuff?) So, he takes up face painting and begins to wash his hair with it, like a rancid, decaying shampoo that should never have been sold to an unsuspecting consumer.
As I watch him, I see my darling angel in a new light. Horns begin to sprout from the top of his head. (And all this time I thought he was ornery because he was teething.)
Figuring out what he’s going to be for Halloween is going to be a cinch.
I dread the upcoming dinner meal, but I’m having my husband pick up a few items from the store on his way home. I have assembled a check list as each meal now requires more attention then I previously gave it.
Spoon, bib, tarps, ‘caution’ tape…yellow bio-hazard suit…
* Just a reminder- it's not too late to enter your kid in the halloween costume contest. Entries due October 24th. (You can find all the info on the 'Halloween Costume Contest' page)