Sometimes I wonder

It must have been the third or fourth time I fed Tornado A with solid food.  Because no one else was there to witness it and therefore to calm me down.  I was left to my own devices, which is not always a good thing.

As I got the spoon in place to shove rice cereal into Tornado A’s mouth, Tornado A opened his mouth wide like a hungry bird.  While his mouth open, out shot a stream of “spit?”

I naturally gave out a tiny, high pitched screech and jumped back.  In case, it was venom.

Because all that flashed through my mind was that scene in Jurassic Park where there cute, tiny dinosaurs all of a sudden start to shriek and spew out poison.

Then I realized it was the weekend, so I couldn’t call the pediatrician.

And my parents were out, so I couldn’t call them.

I started formulating my question for the magic box.  “Baby Venom.”  “Antidote to Baby Venom.” “Help my baby spits venom.”

Of course, the logical part of my brain clicked in at that moment.  You know, the part that reminds you to pay bills, shut the oven off, lock the car, not to walk the half of block to get the mail and leave the kids in the house alone (even if they are cranking and you NEED to get away), not to say “what” and give your dad the opening to the joke he is setting up, that a ton of feathers and a ton of bricks both weigh the same amount.

“Um, did you just actually assume your child just spit out venom?  Please tell me how many years of education you have.  Please promise me you will not mention this to Dad because he will never let you live it down.  Jesus, some days, I’m embarrassed for us both.”

Right.  Thanks.

So I returned to spooning rice cereal into Tornado A’s hungry mouth.

But it is weird my son shoots out a thin stream of spit, right?


We are finally getting to some of my favorite times of mommyhood with Tornado A.  He’s eating real food.  Pureed to mush, something-I-would-never-touch food, but real food, none the less.  And he LOVES it.  I know; no surprises there.

Every food is a new surprise, a new taste, a new experience.  They are the building blocks to all his eating experiences for the rest of his life.  Sure, he may not like squash a year from now, but he tasted it and even liked.  It’s an exciting adventure I get to share in as a pulverize cooked fruits in the blender.  Soon I’ll come up with tasty little meals, then with finger foods.

When we start on meals, I’ll be able to pull out the baby food dish.  The dish that my grandma fed her children from and then her grandchildren.  A ceramic hallow dish that has to be filled with hot water to keep the food warm.  My grandma gave it to me when Tornado E was a baby and I was explaining how The Husband was concerned with heating food in the microwave.  I love that dish.  It connects me with my past and my future.

I love sitting down and spooning food into a waiting mouth, making “Ahhhh” and “Mmmm” sounds.  I love the happy smile.  I love the exciting need, the impulsive want, the hungry mouth moving towards the food.  I love the grubby hand who reaches out and grabs the spoon, trying to feed himself. Tornado A death-grips the spoon, keeping it in his mouth so that he can suck every drop of food off the spoon, hoping it will replenish itself without leaving his mouth.  I love that little messy face.

Tornado A’s had rice, bananas, squash, apples, and plums.  (Does anyone know why they call plums, prunes?)  Today will be another adventure, another mystery food.  Onward, to experience life.