Solid

Before we even got started with her first spoonful of solids, she flipped the bowl.

Her first bite of solid food! More! More! More! Okay, so not all of it was swallowed . . . .

Take a bite of something—preferably something that you need an eating utensil to properly consume. Go ahead, I’ll wait. Okay, take another bite and consider how much coordination it takes to pull the food off the spoon or fork, move it to the back of your mouth with the ole’ tongue, and swallow. Sure, it’s easy for you now, but what if you had never, ever done that before? And, for that matter, what if you had never eaten a texture thicker than baby formula? Charlotte, you see, has started solid foods. Let the messiness commence! But oh, what a fun time we have making a mess. Like any good neurotic mother, I read the requisite books, articles, and so on about starting solid foods. Be prepared, they warned me, for resistance. Keep your expectations low. Most importantly, don’t force your baby to eat solids. Let her learn in her own time. Determined to not screw up, we practiced having Charlotte sit in her high-chair. Then I let her put one of the fun-colored plastic infant spoons in her mouth. This preparation took place over a couple days. Finally, we made some rice cereal and steeled ourselves for a meltdown. I set the bowl of cereal on the high-chair tray, and then scurried to the pantry to grab a bib. Solid foods, I figured, required a bib. (Hell, driving to day care requires a bib.) Then I heard Chris laughing. As I returned to Charlotte, I learned why: The little twerp had flipped her bowl of rice cereal. For good measure, she was dragging her teether to and fro in it. Apparently Mommy had a few things to learn about this whole solid foods thing, too: Do not leave Charlotte unattended (or with Daddy, apparently) with bowls of food within reach. Another batch of rice cereal later, we got down to business. First, I put a little cereal on Charlotte’s lips. She licked at it, intrigued. Then, finally, I offered her a spoonful of the vile stuff (mixed with formula—blech). She allowed it into her mouth, moving the food around with her tongue. Chris and I glanced at each other. This was promising. I put more food on the spoon and held it in front of her, waiting for her permission to proceed. And what did she do? My good little eater opened her mouth wide to take another bite! Chris and I ooohed and ahhhed and gave each other proud, self-satisfied grins, like our kid had just been inaugurated president. As we fed Charlotte, she kept opening her mouth for more cereal, and Chris and I took turns shoveling it in. The scene was hilarious. I swear, you could actually see her thinking about it, taking in the whole experience. New textures! A strange new eating device! And a special chair to eat it in! How interesting. As she has become more comfortable eating solids, Charlotte is concentrating less on coordinating the process of eating and is interacting with us more. Sometimes, with a mouth full of food, she’ll stop and grin at us—and of course the cereal oozes out of her mouth. Most of the time, though, she laps at the spoon like a puppy. “Use your lips, Charlotte,” we tell her, and try to slide the spoon against them so she can learn the sensation of having her lips scrape the food off the spoon. But she continues to lap at the spoon, staring at us with huge, bright eyes as if to say, Aren’t you proud? I’m eating solids!