Somebody — and I won’t name names, but he’s the tiny dude over there in the high chair, ahem — is now eating solid food. And by “solid” I of course mean “pureed into a largely non-solid state.” It’s not like he’s eating turkey legs or shelling pistachios. Though, given the way this kid eats, it would not surprise me.
Just the same, I thought, it’s time to talk about feeding the baby.
Those of you with weak constitutions, troubled hearts or a fear of adorable small people…
TURN AWAY NOW.
* * *
I didn’t teach him this.
In fact, unless Santa Claus or some other fairy being is secretly involved, I don’t think anybody taught him this — but somehow he knows. He’s been studying us eating and from the first time I scooped a blob of pureed pears onto his baby-sized purple pastel spoon, he’s been ready. He opened his ravenous maw wide and blinked at me with those big blue eyes (the same eyes that are cute enough to prevent us from dropping him off at the local recycling center) and was ready to eat. No coaxing needed. No dabbing a little on his lips to be like, “Mmm, see? No, no, I know, it features none of the pillowy comfort of a boob, but hey! Apples!” None of that. He just opened his mouth and was ready to go and no training was necessary.
Humans are impressive machines.
If only potty-training will be this easy.
* * *
The kid, he hungers.
You know Jabba the Hutt? How his slug tongue licks the lips and he gleefully pops that screaming squirming tadpole thing into the foul slit that monster calls a mouth?
Yeah, that’s my son.
* * *
NO STOP GRABBING THE SPOON
Okay, fine, grab the spoon.
Now his hands are sticky. And they’ll be sticky all day because somehow, perfectly cleaning an infant’s fingers is impossible. Later I’ll wonder, “How did this clump of food end up behind my ear? Was I sleep-eating again? Did someone slip me some Ambien? What the hell is it?” *taste* “Mmm. Peas.”
* * *
I cannot feed him fast enough.
They say his stomach is as big as his fist and he’s not exactly a huge kid — he’s lean, lanky, but not heavy.
So, when he wolfs down two full containers of food and then another two or three servings of rice cereal, I worry. This can’t be natural, I think. Kid’s got a tapeworm. Hell, he might have a stomach full of screeching baby falcons. But the doctor and all the baby books say, “Keep feeding him when he’s hungry,” but his hunger knows no bounds. I half expect to look under his high chair and see that it’s all just fallen through him, dropped through some empty space and onto the floor.
If I don’t feed him fast enough, he makes… impatient noises.
MMM. NNNNGH. AHHHH.
* * *
OKAY OKAY I’M HURRYING
If he had teeth he’d bite at the air — clack clack clack.
* * *
Peas, though. He doesn’t like peas. He eats peas, he gets this face like, “Did you just spit in my mouth? What is this? Rubber cement? Pencil shavings? Goose poop? Fuck is wrong with you people?”
A genetic component, perhaps. I hated peas as a kid, too. From pureed peas onward. My mother says I could eat a glob of food and if there were peas in it I’d eat the rest of the food and then spit out the individual peas as if I was just cleaning them, making them shiny for someone else. Ptoo, ptoo, ptoo.
* * *
JESUS CHRIST STOP LOOKING AT THE DOG SHE’S NOT FEEDING YOU I AM
* * *
Baby food is delicious.
I squeezed out some mango puree and tasted it and immediately wanted to stir in some rum, toss it in a fruity glass with a swirly straw and guzzle that bad-boy down. No wonder the kid loves this stuff.
I mean, this strawberry-apple puree? I’d kill a dude for a second taste.
Though, yesterday I saw some of the meat-based baby foods at Target.
The “ham” puree has a color exactly that of Caucasian flesh.
As if it’s a jar of ground-up pink-cheeked street urchin.
I think we’re going to hold off on giving him meats for as long as we can.
* * *
OH MY GOD KID YOU LOOK LIKE A GLAZED DONUT
* * *
The poop changes once you start feeding them.
It comes more often, for one thing.
Really, though, it starts looking like proper poop. No longer a mysterious mud-glop in a soft white shell — now it’s human waste. It’s what you or I do, just on a smaller scale. The glory days are over.
Oh, I know, here I am another parent talking about baby poop but suck it, that’s what we have to deal with. People talk about their experiences and new parents experience a whole lotta poop. You grow eerily and wearily comfortable with human effluence. You ever have someone pee in your face?
Have a baby. You’ll see.
* * *
HOLY CRAP HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET FOOD ON YOUR EYELID
* * *
His one hand grabs for the spoon. The other hand floats in the air like he’s conducting some kind of baby-food symphony. And his head bobs and weaves like he’s a drunken Stevie Wonder.
* * *
Soon, I think we’ll start making food for him. Get a rocking blender, something like a Vita-Mix, and just go to town. A lot of the store-bought food comes in crazy combos: for Thanksgiving, we gave him sweet potatoes + pumpkin + apple + blueberries, all in one squeezable food-tube. I’m oddly excited for the ability to mix up batches of whatever combos I choose. Spinach! Apples! Papaya! Wood grubs! Alpo! Caramel sauce! Bacon! NOM NOM NOM.
And yes, he really does like spinach.
* * *
All my years of video game training have led me to this.
Sure, there’s a technique — food on the end of the spoon, go in high, use his upper lip to kind of shear the food into his mouth, let him suck off the rest, then use the spoon to scrape the remaining goo off his lips.
But he keeps it interesting. He’ll open up reaaaaal biiiiig and just as you get close — BOOM — the hangar doors slam shut and the airplane crashes and the food is a casualty crammed against his face.
Or he’ll pivot to look at the dog.
Or he’ll try to be an active eater and lunge for the food.
You can’t fall asleep on this job. No automatic behaviors will do.
The kid, he’s squirrelly.
* * *
OH THE HUMANITY IT’S IN YOUR NOSE
* * *
He keeps eating
and eating
and eating.
I’m half-tempted to shoot a goat and throw it on the tray.
Just to see.
Just to see.
* * *
The doctor tells us it’s time to start feeding him more than once a day. Three times. Meal times. Brekkie, lunch, dinner. It strikes you at times like this: oh shit, he’s like a real person.
This isn’t a dream. He’s not a puppy.
Deep breath.
* * *
I bet he’d eat that goat.
* * *
OH GOD THE GOAT BLOOD IS IN YOUR HAIR
* * *
When we’re done eating, I approach his face as if the washcloth is a shark — I even make the JAWS music, dun-dun, duunnn-duuun — though it would be far easier if I could just drop him in the driveway and hose him off with the power-washer. Then I clean the tray and plant toys before him. He loves toys, now. It’s amazing how fast the changes occur with these wee little humans. Now he can drag himself toward things half-a-room away. Now he shoots out an arm and grabs things like some kind of snake-trained ninja. Now he studies objects and does more than just bang them into his head or shove them into his mouth.
Now he eats solid food.
Now he’s six months old.
* * *
Why I love feeding the boy:
Because it’s my time with him. I mean, I have a lot of time with him but it’s a time I can plop him down and his eyes are eerily focused on me and my Magical Spoon and I get to play the role of nurturing food-dude — after all, it’s not like I can breastfeed him or anything. (And no, I have not tried, weirdo.)
I like that time. Even when he shellacs his own eye shut with smashed carrots or gnaws on the food tray or turns his head at the last second thus ensuring I jam a dollop of prunes into his ear. I like the fundamental connection of parent-and-child, the uncomplicated rigors of I have food and you want this food and we are father and son and let’s laugh as you accidentally snort mashed banana into your brain.
It’s a sweet time and a highlight of my day and I cherish it.
I mean, don’t tell him that.
roxanne says:
I had fun reading this. I raised 2 boys. And yes, they could eat the goat. The younger one, because of his high palate, could likely swallow it whole. Yep, boys are eating machines. Mine were small, but holy cow could they put it away (yes, tapeworms or baby falcons, definitely).
It’s cool when you write about your boy here. It’s like we get to watch him grow, too.
November 28, 2011 — 12:46 AM
Kort says:
I loved reading this. My daughter is feeding herself, now, and has insisted on using the potty. Well, at least she’s trying to. She hasn’t quite gotten the mechanics down yet but she’s working on it. And she doesn’t even really properly talk yet.
My husband did not like doing the whole baby feeding thing, though. She kept insisting on feeding herself so we just watered down the food and put it in a bottle with a cereal nipple on it. She loved it and has been an independent thing ever since. Seems the ‘rents were holding her back what with all their insisting on helping her do stuff.
November 28, 2011 — 1:54 AM
Keith MacKenzie says:
What a dynamite post. My wife is expecting any day now – ANY DAY NOW – and it was a joy to read your blog posting, and have an idea what to expect other than “Oh, it’s going to be the most difficult (and rewarding) thing in your life!” as if I’m supposed to be shit-scared of what’s about to come.
Fuck ’em and their horror stories. I prefer stories like yours. They conjure up the right feelings.
November 28, 2011 — 2:03 AM
Karin says:
Keith it is not THAT difficult but it is THAT rewarding. (Okay, so it’s difficult at times).
I love Chuck’s Babytown posts because my little one is a month or so ahead of CDub. She doesn’t eat goats, but she does get food up her nose, in her hair, on the floor, on her eyelids … pretty much everywhere. In fact, she has a dab of pumpkin from lunch on her nose right now. I’d remove it, but … it’s too darn cute. 🙂
November 28, 2011 — 2:39 AM
Todd Moody says:
Great stuff Chuck! I raised 4 of the little buggers and your stories bring back vivid memories. I think most of us share exactly what you are going through and they are great memories. 6 months is when the baby will really start to connect to Daddy, before that they can’t really see well enough to know people, just smells, sounds and shapes, but now Daddy is an actual real person in his life and he will smile at you and make your whole week. Thanks for sharing this with us!
November 28, 2011 — 7:59 AM
Dan says:
My childless brother once asked why my infant kids had to go to the bathroom so often. “I mean, they go three times as often as I do!”
So I thought about it, did the math, and replied, “Well, if you ate 10-15% of your body weight every day, I think you’d be in the bathroom a lot too.”
November 28, 2011 — 8:52 AM
Dan O'Shea says:
I never thought I’d miss feeding the youngins – I mean the old-school, strap-em-in-the-chair, actually-shove-the-food-in-their-mouths feeding them. I still gotta buy their food. Won’t miss that so much if it ever stops.
But you got me a little nostalgic, dude.
Wait, what the . . . is that a spec of pureed peas behind my ear? How long has that been there?
Dan
November 28, 2011 — 9:13 AM
Peter Hentges says:
As a former teenage boy, I suggest raising goats so that you’ll have a sufficient herd by the time he’s 14.
November 28, 2011 — 9:19 AM
Josh Loomis says:
Thanks for sharing this, and making me all the more eager to see my kid this weekend. I want to take him to a buffet now, and instead of just getting food for him, walk with him up to the big trays and let him pick out what he wants.
Just to see.
Just to see.
November 28, 2011 — 9:23 AM
Tracey Hansen says:
That was sweet and yet disturbing, kind of like you.
November 28, 2011 — 10:44 AM
Casz Brewster says:
Save the goat for when he’s a teeenager. Enjoy the time that three jars of baby food seems like he’s eating a lot. Trust me.
November 28, 2011 — 10:48 AM
Darlene Underdahl says:
Hah! Wait a year, or more likely two, and he’ll notice Grandma removing the stuffing from the turkey abdominal cavity and putting it into a nice bowl. He’ll think you’re going to feed him guts!
Good times.
November 28, 2011 — 11:00 AM
Ellie Ann says:
Yes. That. Well put.
November 28, 2011 — 3:03 PM
Heather Marsten says:
Forgot to mention the poop starts to stink once solid foods are incorporated.
One suggestion, get another spoon and let the little one hold it and you hold the food spoon.
You haven’t gotten to spitting out the food yet LOL. They get over this stage. Now I have college age kids and they have their own eating challenges.
Have a blessed day.
Heather
November 28, 2011 — 3:48 PM
Lesann says:
If you’re having this much fun now – just wait until you get to the toddler stage!
That’s when food becomes an experimental artistic medium with which to explore every surface in the house. Textures and tactile application of various food substances becomes a form of sport.
Of course that stage is followed by the one where they look at their messy hands and then you like it’s somehow YOUR fault they can’t properly use forks and spoons. Not long after they begin to investigate what happens when they mix all the items on their plate together into a colorful whorl of swirl.
This is where we are now. I can’t imagine what comes next.
Enjoy every step.
November 28, 2011 — 4:32 PM
Matt Roberts says:
Approaching this stage myself, and although I have not had pee in my face, my boy has managed to pee in his OWN face! Now, there’s a trick! Oh, and on the subject of baby waste, poo in the bath is a special treat!
I know what you mean about spending special time with your kid though. Even though I work, I volunteered to do nights, although I’m grateful I have such a good boy who now sleeps through the night, I miss those bleary-eyed feeding sessions.
November 28, 2011 — 4:45 PM
Dave Turner says:
Now is the time to innovate your own version of the Ludovico Technique. Don’t forget to apply for the patent.
November 28, 2011 — 5:37 PM
Susan Kelly says:
Chuck, you and your baby bonding over feeding makes one little corner of the world a better place.
ps, don’t you have some difficulties eating grains or something, yourself? Was this not a topic earlier? If so, seriously consider raising BDub as basically a carnivore with a little fruit on the side. He *wants* the goat. Not what the goat eats.
November 28, 2011 — 6:56 PM
Alisha Miller says:
Since Jacks is about to be 11 months, I am laughing on the inside. THIS IS ONLY JUST THE BEGINNING! MUAHAHAHA!
…Ahem.
Babies are neat!
November 28, 2011 — 6:56 PM
Tristan says:
I remember my own little gremlin shark-attacking peaches. Those were the days.
November 29, 2011 — 12:13 AM
Louise Sorensen says:
I had three kids in three years, and although I loved it, the baby years are a blur for me.
So, like the rest of us here, I’m really enjoying your adventures in Babyland.
BTW, my boys still eat like they have hollow legs.
November 29, 2011 — 11:54 AM
Amelia June says:
When my little one was little like that he ate everything too. Everything I offered went in the craw. His first WORD was “Puff” as in the easily digestible corn puff-thingies they sell for babies. He loved him some food.
Now he’s six, and refuses to eat anything but cheese and peanut butter. WTF? Kids are inscrutable little monsters, but just cute enough to keep around anyway.
November 30, 2011 — 11:08 AM
Guilie says:
You are the funniest person I’ve ever “met”. I laughed all the way through this, as you no doubt intended, and I don’t even have kids. You’re a great dad. Yeah, don’t worry. We won’t tell.
December 1, 2011 — 8:34 AM