Spike

Almost due for a haircut…

Faith was reading up on what to expect around month 8 (a couple weeks away) and it listed more solid foods, including meats, and even some finger food. So last night Zane had his first chicken. Well, calling it chicken is a bit of a stretch. The label says sweet potato and chicken, the ingredients list sweet potato, apricot, and chicken, and my sample taste confirms sweet potato with a slight hint of apricot but no idea where the chicken got off to.

Zane liked it just fine: wolfing down a half a bottle with a little less vocalization than usual for dad feedings. Normally we barely make it past a spoon or two of rice/veggie mush when he starts going on about something. He’ll still be eating, but it also sounds like he’s doing an impromptu restaurant review for the Times and is none to impressed by the wait staff.

Call me snooty, but this waiter isn’t too impressed with his total disregard for etiquette or anything resembling fastidiousness. Zane will have a mouthful of something mushy and decide it’s time to itch his nose, with a side-trip across the lips and through the gums and tongue district. In less time than a parent can put down a spoon he’s smeared his face, clothes, and high chair, with a dollop tossed over a shoulder for us to find when he’s in High School.

See, I’m thinking of a bib design with sleeves that tie behind the baby, a few straps to remove slack, something in a nice, sturdy fabric.

Faith does a great job feeding Zane, using sign language to tell him what is going on or ask him what he wants. I’m not sure if he’s picking up on it yet, but he does seem to understand many of the things we say. “Open up” and he’ll usually open his mouth for more food. “No” and he’ll let go of your hair or stop playing with his bib. “Your dad is a goober,” and he nods his head solemnly, contemplating the mess his dad made with a spoonful of prunes.