As of last week, Tornado A is no longer a vegan. Which brings me to one of my favorite parts of babyhood: making meals. I pull out all my breast milk recipes, much to The Husband’s and my parents’ amusement.
It all came about when Tornado E was a baby. By the time he was introduced to eggs, Tornado E decided breastfeeding was not for him. He’d take a few pulls and then smile up to me as in to say, “Look what I did for you.” So he was weaned. Then we ran into a problem. He wouldn’t drink breast milk or formula from a bottle. If it wasn’t juice coming from that rubber nipple, then he was not going to drink. No, sir. Being new to parenting, I resorted to cups because I had forgotten that someone had invented sippy cups. Tornado E was not getting enough milk, and I was desperate. So I added it to his scrambled eggs. Then I made him french toast. I made omelets. I added milk to everything. And he loved it. And I loved it. And it was good.
So now as I “slave” away on a stove, I do it with a smile for the baby who is eating Cheerios in the high chair behind me. And I know he’ll love it.