A whole new dimension has been added to my day: the girl wants lunch.
On the whole, the baby-led weaning thing is going really well. We’ve covered an impressive range of foods and for the most part, it’s a joy to watch Lilly eat. Yes, it’s still messy but these days, we do less face painting and more putting the food where it is actually intended (although I’m convinced sometimes she does intend for it to go onto the floor, or better yet, straight into the waiting canine’s mouth).
We started with introducing the concept of dinner, then breakfast. Now it appears we are on to three square meals a day. The whole lunch thing is temporarily traumatic because it seems that I currently spend a significant part of my day preparing food, serving it, and cleaning up afterwards. Some days, one seems to almost run into the other.
For the better part of the last month, sufficient midday magic was to hand the girl a piece of dry bread and Bob’s your uncle (well, actually Hans-Jürgen’s my uncle but it hardly has the same ring to it). Now she wants real food. Avocados are a firm favourite, with bits on the side. Preferably nutritious and quick to prepare (ok, the latter are clearly mummy stipulations).
Honestly peeps, I signed up to be a writer, not a chef. Was there something in the mothering contract’s fine print about regular food provision? And whatever next – snacks???
Ok, rant over. I know this too shall pass. Not the requirement for three meals, but the time-consuming novelty of it. After all, I thought it was hard work when we introduced one meal a day, let alone three. And I have now moaned to enough people that I am actually tired of hearing myself. Very therapeutic though. As is blogging. After all, who needs retail therapy when you can write?
But just in case you find my next post has been penned in blood orange, you know I will have taken the term ‘food writing’ to the next level.