..food fight!

Most days, the bottom half of me is a Pro Hart of the good, bad and the ugly. Today I am loudly exhibiting a melange of wet rusk, puree and vomit. Pooh was on this morning's half after a nappy was sidled out of position amidst giggles, and tipped down the front of me while I reached for the talc.

Does anyone else live like this?

But today is cause for celebration as the battle of understanding food and how to go about weaning is almost won. And we both reign victorious. I trust that his very intelligent, little body will eat what it needs from the quantity I amass in front of him, and he is becoming more adventurous on keeping things in his mouth, past the point of ejecting them off the front of his tongue in one fierce thrust. I resist pouring over him and each morsel that reaches his lips, and he appreciates the freedom to play. I remember to breathe and he is acquiring an understanding of what it is to be a team player.

Regaining composure following first solid foods and high chair moments thwart with tears - mine on many occasions - hasn't been easy. There was a time when I believed O would keel over and die of malnutrition if he didn't finish every mouthful on his plate, but this passes with time. Hugh at River Cottage advises that I should decide what J and I want to eat, then work out how to make it appropriate for O. This works for us, so we're taking baby steps.