Feeding time at the zoo

My goal was to breatsfeed my son until he was a year old. I made it 8 months, not bad. Trying to maintain my supply with pumping at work and not seeing him for 3 days at a time due to long work hours I dried up like a puddle in the Sahara. In turn, Little B quickly became less interested in my slow-flow boobies, preferring instead the fast, feed-me-now flow of his bottles. We weaned together in a few days. This cold season has been a doozy. Colds piggybacking on other colds, it has been pretty much constant teething/drooling/snotty/coughing germy disaster in our house. A couple of weeks after we stopped breastfeeding Wyatt had a pretty bad cold and was having a hard time sleeping. He sleeps in his crib nowadays so in a moment of desperation I thought maybe he would finally slip off to dream land if I brought him into bed with me. He did not have the same idea. After 45 minutes of wiggling, whining and fussing I figured I would try to see if a little good ole breastfeeding would do the trick. It used to be the best way to calm him down and help soothe him and it had only been about a week and a half since we stopped. I cozied up next to him in bed and shoved my boob in his mouth; let the healing begin! Little B however wasn’t sharing my view. He bit down hard, pulled away like he was disgusted with me, giggled a bit and then started poking at it like it was a funny looking toy. I felt really inappropriate and creepy. My boob had very suddenly stopped being a source of food and comfort, and was now a weird, apparently funny looking random object. And this creepy mom just tried jamming it into my baby’s face. Kids can really make you feel like a total asshole quickly.
Now that Little B is eating more regular food I find myself kind of at a loss. He is kind of in between eating baby food and being able to eat whatever we eat. I was at the store the other day staring down the aisles looking dazed. What do people eat? What do I eat? Thinking of what I had eaten that day I came up with coffee. Just coffee. Ok, what did I eat yesterday? Coffee. I licked the spoon I used to serve Wyatt yogurt, then had a handful of cheerios and some raisins he threw at me. For dinner, wine, an embarrasing amount of brie and some mushrooms. (No not the hallucineginc kind. That happened once a long time ago, on a day I not-so-lovingly refer to as “drug tuesday”. A story for another time.) My eating habits leave something to be desired. I have to get my shit in order so I can properly feed my child. What am I doing being a parent when I can’t even properly take care of myself?!? These are thoughts that occur at 1139pm. Then I make a 1145pm plan to get my shit together once and for all. I will start weekly meal plans complete with shopping lists! I will make dinners ahead for busy nights! Yes, I can do this! But then I dont and we fall back into our rut of take out bento tuesdays, pizza wednesdays and rotisserie chicken or ravioli every other night. In addition to fretting over what to feed Little B, I fret over what size of food to feed him. If I chop everything itty bitty, he is more likely to accidently aspirate it while hamming it up in his high chair. Plus he will never learn to chew. If it’s too big, he will surely choke on it. He seems to do best with french-fry sized items. Yes, he has had a fry or two, so shoot me. To be fair, they were truffle oil fries and the hot deliciousness really seemed to soothe his sore gums. Desperate times call for desperate measures right?
When I do find a food he can eat he only likes it for one and a half meals. I think “yay! He loves green beans! I will buy some green beans!”. He devours them the first night, I save them in the fridge, “don’t touch! Wyatt’s food!”, and by the second night he is treating them like they are poisoned. 6 days later his sitter says “I tried green beans with Little B and he loved them!” Of course by then the green beans I purchased are a unidentifiable brown mess in the back of the fridge.
Lately he’s been doing better and better with finger foods, using his little chubby fingers perfectly to get the food into his mouth. I figured he was eating about half of it, the other half ending up on the floor from Little B’s lovely windshield wiper maneuver he likes to do on his highchair tray. I recently took off the cover of his high chair and discovered a second seat cover made out of discarded food from long ago. Mashed bananas from days gone by, grapes turned into raisins, it was a finger-food graveyard. At this rate I figure he eats one Cheerio for ever 10 I give him; six on the floor, one in his mouth, and 3 in the nether regions of his highchair. It’s like our very own mini-composter. How very Portlandia of us!


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