Baby Food

Before Romi even came home I vowed to raise a strong, healthy baby with good eating habits. I made a commitment to both of us that I would do everything I could to instill in Romi a love of fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grains, complex carbohydrates and pure drinking water. My son would not have to fight sugar cravings or the call of trans fats. To this end, I decided that I would make Romi's baby food. I bought special trays with 2 ounce portion sizes and snap on covers for the freezer (my baby would not taste freezer burn!). And for the most part I have to admit it worked well. Romi's favorite food is Cheerios, a multi-grain oat snack. He gobbled up the beautiful fresh pureed carrots, yams and butternut squash. He fell in love with peas and Lima beans. The food was all lovingly prepared without fat or spice and had gorgeous vivid colors. I congratulated myself on a job well done.

And then two things happened. First, my independent little guy learned to use his hands, which means he only wants to feed himself. If he can't put it between his fingers and convey it to his mouth, it's not on the menu. I adapted, knowing that developmentally this was great for Romi. No longer would the fresh cooked veg go into the blender, but it was finely diced for little fingers.

But then we went to the doctor. While a drop off in weight gain is expected at nine months, what with all the physical exercise the kiddies get crawling around and pulling themselves up, Romi's lack of pounds has the doctor a bit concerned. The solution? Add fat and calories to his diet. His veggies now come slathered in butter or olive oil. He has progressed to eating meat and cheese (no, not together). The snack of choice is now low-sodium, high-fat Ritz crackers.

Whereas I once wanted my little bambino raised on naught but local fresh produce, I am now energetically feeding him pancakes and pizza. Oy.

Romi with egg on his face

Another New Mother Moment

Warning: Do not read this entry if you are in any way squeamish. The following is definitely NOT rated Carrie (which means barf figures prominently).

Romi isn't one of those babies who spits up a lot, unless he has a cold. When his nose gets stuffed up and he coughs, his superior gag reflex comes to the surface and he can barf with the best of 'em. We learned this in December when we had the first run in with his runny nose, and you would have thought we had mastered the learning curve. Alas, that is so not so.

Last Friday, Rob went off to the synagogue to cook and I stayed at home with the Moochkie. We had a great day, napping together, playing on the floor, eating, laughing. It was wonderful, aside from the occasional nose-wiping freak-out session. As Shabbat drew near and knowing I was on my own, I decided to get a jump on getting us both ready. As we traversed the house, I was in schlumpy house clothes and Romi wore naught but a diaper. And out of nowhere, you guessed it: barf. Mostly on me. Some on him. A little on the floor.

As a new mother, I looked down at the liberal amount of formula mixed with phlegm that now covered my front. I looked at the modest amount on the kid who generated the mess. And I looked at the small amount on my tile floor. Which took priority? I must admit, for a moment I was paralyzed with indecision. My new mommy instincts, however, soon took over and I used diaper wipes to gently clean my baby from his own barf. Next, I went to my room, put Romala down on the floor and took off my barf-covered shirt. What I forgot, however, was that the best plan would be to NOT turn it inside out, so I merely succeeded in transferring the offending lumpy liquid to my hair. Seeing as I certainly didn't have time for a shower I did the next best thing and used a washcloth to scrape it off my head and prayed that I didn't smell too badly. Next. I threw some Shabbat clothes on both of us and headed out to tackle the family room floor, only to discover that I had waited too long and the dog had kindly taken care of it for me.

Oh, shut up. I told you not to read this if you were squeamish.