Monday, 12 March 2018

The Breastaurant: side orders


The day finally came; we starting weaning. Not only do I now have a 6 month old son, I also have a kitchen with dried broccoli purée on the ceiling and no room in my freezer. He’s taken to the world of fruit and vegetables very well and I’m so happy. I'm slightly less happy about the moments I see Jason try to put a Bourbon biscuit in Rivs mouth but I’m rising above it. Daddy day care at its finest...

The poo situation, however, has taken a turn for the worse and subsequently Jason’s confidence with holding in his own vomit is at an all time low. His experiences with what comes out of Riv's ass are now somewhat traumatic and hearing him disown his son each time he attempts to deal with a nappy explosion is pretty entertaining. There’s definitely an element of fun with changing River now; you never know what smell, colour or consistency you’re going to be faced with. It’s a real lucky dip and even I’ll admit having to open the window on occasion when it’s a proper showstopper. A particular favourite of mine was the neon aftermath of the first sweet potato experience that worked it's way up his back. As his mum though, I get a weird sense of enjoyment seeing this food when it’s out the other end, it’s an absurd feeling of accomplishment knowing he’s getting the goodness of those side orders in. Awww just look at that red pepper in there! Breathe in that shitty, sweet, nutritious success! 

Rivs not keen on the ‘no bib, no brunch’ dress code and spends a lot of his meal times trying to yank off the fancy silicone number I keep wrapping round his neck. He prefers to soak his clothes in smushy veg to really enhance the food experience and likes to get at least a spoonful of it on his eyebrow to finish off the look. No matter how thoroughly I seem to wipe him down, I will still find bits of dried food either up his nose or in his ear hours later. He also seems to be exceptional at communicating when he’s had enough; he’ll tighten his lips like there’s never been a mouth there and shun me away with the sassiest of cold shoulders.
I’m trying a combination of baby led weaning and purées, which means I get to fill his belly but also get to watch him smash pieces of cucumber and mango on the table with his fists. I buy him lots of tasty organic finger foods as recommended by the two books that I bought and read the back of; 80 percent of which end up anywhere but his mouth. It’s like watching your money being thrown away in front of you, which Annabel Karmel neglects to tell you (ta very much, babe) but it's just cute to watch them attempt eating, even though Rivers eating style is that of someone in a kebab shop at 3am after they’ve had a heavy drinking sesh. Still cute.
It's definitely a bit of a faff to have to add mealtimes into the day after I've been spoilt with the laziness of just getting my boob out. But on the plus side it has added some much needed structure to our day. It gives me a chance to eat a proper lunch while I have him occupied in the highchair which is a definite improvement from eating soggy cornflakes one handed. 

He’s still very much into the signature breastaurant dish: the tité milk and at the moment he’s still having full portions. He currently only enjoys it straight from the tap and looks offended if you try to give it him in a bottle or god forbid try to give him formula in a bottle when momma wants a night on the vino (although alcohol doesn't care that you're a mum who has to get up at 6am with your baby. Instead it likes to give you a banging hangover when you've only had three drinks which is SO delightful) I’m told his penchant for breastmilk will dwindle in time once solid food becomes more desirable to him. So stay tuned for my emotional breakdown when he doesn’t need my boobs anymore and I'm squirting unwanted milk down the kitchen sink.
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