Monday, June 21, 2010

baby food

Annaleigh was weaned about 2 weeks ago. Or more. Or less. I'm not sure. All the days just seem to run into each other since being sucked into the motherhood vortex. The only things that make any sense any more is poop and spit up.

Now she no longer recognizes me as food. But sees a plastic bottle and that's when the idea of sustenance seems to flow through her tiny mind. It's mildly heartbreaking.

I was asked the other day:

Oh, but now that you're through the weaning process, it doesn't even phase you, right?

Not exactly.

Like I said, mildly heartbreaking. Maybe, wildly heartbreaking.

I miss it.

I miss her.

There's something cozy and sweet and wonderful about being able to keep your offspring thriving. Each visit to the doctor gave me a sense of pride.

24 inches. 15 lbs, 4 oz. She's growing perfectly.

Thank you. Thank you, very much. I'd like to thank a few people: my rye bread, tuna, low-fat milk, and healthy dose of fruits and veggies. I couldn't of grown this baby without you.

But now?

Gritty, smelly formula mixed with water? That's going to be responsible for growing my baby?

Nevertheless. She loves it. I'd like to think I'll always be her favorite and that formula is 2nd best. It's all she's got, so she's got to love it, right?

Maybe not.

I bring her downstairs after our morning routine of "moment-after-waking-up-snuggle-time" and diaper changing to attend to the lengthy process of preparing a bottle. Much more complicated than the former method.

As we turn the corner into the kitchen, she becomes a part of her own prime-time mini-movie nightmare.

Cue scary music.

This is what she sees....

A row of dirty bottles waiting to be cleaned.
There are things a tiny 6 month old mind still cannot understand.

Patience, for one.

Or, that a ton of dirty bottles is not a wonderful long row of food just staring her in the face. Mocking her.

Cue tears and wailing.


She saw them. Looked at me. And then began to cry.

Sorry, babe. But that's the consequence of mommy not being your food.
Like I said. Heartbreaking.

And maybe even a little bit funny.

1 comment:

Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer's year - it brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul. -Unknown