January 12, 2006
In a move that has surprised no-one who knows either of your parents, we've already established to a large extent that you are an ... independent child. A child who, whilst he will consider the suggested course of action, will invariably take such advice on its individual merits as to his own planned agenda, and as such may or may not take said advice.
Such is your strategy with food. It seems that you beleive that food proffered on a spoon, punkin, by one of your longsuffering parents, must be some kind of a trap or poison. You flail your head from side to side, clamp your mouth shut and do everything possible to fling the spoon from you with your tiny, gorgeous chubby arms.
The VERY SAME food, can, however, be presented to you (in bunnykins flatware, natch) for you to sample as you see fit, to whirl around, to squish between your fingers and mash in your hair and throw on the floor, AND YOU EAT IT. Not very much of it gets eaten, this goes without saying, but some of it does. And that, brambling, is no small victory from our perspective. With you starting day care in a matter of days, there's going to be scant chance for you to indulge your favoured culinary delight of jus d'boob.
So it's chunks of bananaaaanana for you. And cheese. And vegeroni. And avocado. And anything else we can convince you to stick in your teething mouth.
Oh yes, the teething thing. In a move that only serves to further cement your ties with creatures of the netherworld (being named after the person who wrote Dracula and a character from Buffy respectively), it seems that you have elected that your third tooth will be a fang. Pictures soon.