I need to rethink my daughter's bedtime routine. That whole bath before bottle plan the books suggest for newborns isn't as practical for 6-month-olds hellbent on painting their faces (and hair and Bumpo chair and pajama feet) with sweet potatoes.
My husband is usually the captain of dinner, wielding the spoon and the bottle while I clean up bath items and ready blankets for the loose swaddle that signals bedtime. As I breeze through the house taking care of loose ends, I sometimes wonder just what he's doing - can't he get the spoon to her mouth more efficiently? How can a 16 pound little girl own her father? She's a baby! Just feed her already.
Oh, the all-knowing perspective of the outside observer. With winter sports events in full swing and daughter, dog and I often on our own for the pm shift, the last hour of our day has become rather colorful. Bibs go in the wash covered with the green of sweet peas or the odd beige of pureed bananas. Counters are splattered with the orange of squash or the disconcerting purple of prunes. Dinnertime is a virtual exercise in abstract art.
Her fascination with her hands, while otherwise cute, is especially problematic at dinner as she eagerly shoves them into a mouth full of food, causing coated fingers and the occasional spit up. I've been thankful for her dad's absence - my performance as feeder definitely warrants an I told you so!
The other night she sneezed while eating cereal, sending little snowdrops of rice and formula to the tips of her freshly washed hair. She thought it was hilarious, exploding in a whole body laugh that had her frustrated mom grinning. My obsessive-compulsive desire to immediately Windex or baby wipe any mess evaporated in the sheer comedy of the moment. She was a mess but a happy mess. A happy mess who probably should have had another bath...
Tonight she gagged on her peas. The absolute disgust on her face made me laugh out loud - she was so dramatic in her expression! I wrinkled my nose when I opened the jar (I was the child who had to put all vegetables in applesauce and swallow them whole so I could eat them and earn my dessert) but thought that she wouldn't notice. I snuck that first spoonful in and got a wide-eyed, hand shaking, gasping, gagging response. I couldn't really blame her. Looks like we might need to stick to sweet potatoes for the next few days.
There are so many interactions with my child that are humbling. It continually surprises me just how a little life can turn an otherwise capable adult into a bumbling mess of ineptitude. (I'm reminded of the early days of diaper changes when my inexperienced hands couldn't keep up with the Play-Do Fun Factory of poop -I'd go through three diapers just trying to change one). I swear sometimes she's laughing at me, her expressive eyes (so much like her dad's) wondering, What are you doing, woman?
I got her to bed with a full, satisfied tummy, albeit with more colors on her pajamas than she started with. As she drifted off to baby dreamland, I headed downstairs to feed the dog. At least that's something I know how to do!
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