So, along with her gross motor skills, my kid is making great strides in the area of gastronomy.
She ate filet mignon.
Mostly, though, she eats mushed up fruits and vegetables that I create by slaving over the proverbial – and literal – hot stove. I did give in and buy some of those new-fangled pouches of organic baby food. And, because I was hundreds of miles from home, feeding her in my mom’s car in a gas station parking lot, I tried letting her suck the puree from straight from the pouch.
I can make the exact same exotic blend of squash and apples, and she will eat it from a bowl with a spoon. Most of the time. But if she sees a baby food pouch, she will shriek and flap her arms and grin and babble and scream until she gets her hands on it.
Oh, well. She probably prefers disposable diapers, too.
The benefit of her emerging skills at eating without choking means that I can sometimes give her a tray of finger foods and she can exist more than twelve inches away from me. And after seven months of carrying her around like a baby monkey, I am giddy with the ability to fold a load of laundry while my daughter is happily chasing blueberry puffs around a tray with her pudgy little fingers.
Even if it means that I will later be carrying her around like a baby monkey while I pick up the puffs from the floor, the chair, the tray, her clothes, her ears, my hair, and, inexplicably, my pockets.