This is quickly becoming my favorite corner in the apartment: this little space on my work desk populated by photos of my babe, tools, a good-luck chicken from my best friend, and now an open terrarium of air plants that Patrick got me for Mother's Day, from Bestow PDX. (That place, by the way, is a one-woman wonder run by Nyki, who's filled a corner of St. Johns Coffee Roasters with succulents and strange vines and beautiful cut flowers.)
Probably we'll hike today, and eat some kind of good food. A day like lots of other days, because the days these days are good.
And about eating good food: This kid does ... sometimes. She always finishes her pesto pasta; a lot of times she tears through a quesadilla. But breakfast? Maybe a half-banana and a few pieces of cereal. More likely, though, I find all her cereal bits scatter on the floor, and half-smashed pieces of banana flung across the room.
And then I realized something: lunch and dinner, she and I always eat together. Me eating in front of her, helping feed her the remainder of her meal when she's gotten kind of bored but not quite full.
For breakfast, though, I'm usually sat on the couch trying to squeeze out the last bit of my pseudo-solitary routine before the day is turned over to my to-do list; my being-in-charge-of-deadlines-and-creatures list. Meanwhile King is in her booster seat on the floor, left to quietly figure out breakfast by herself.
Earlier this week I happened to have a little leftover smoothie that I wanted to her to eat if she'd take it. And of course I'd have to be sat on the floor with her to spoon feed her or, as it turns out, help her drink it from the bowl.
And then this thing happened where I saw her eat more breakfast than usual. I just had to let her experiment with her food. Dip her Cheerios in the smoothie. Dip her fingers in. Drink from the bowl, eat from a spoon.
It turns out that, that whole social aspect of sharing a meal is—as far as I can tell my little social experiment at home—something that starts so, so early. Mealtime isn't just about food. It's about communion, asking questions (what happens if I put a Cheerio and smoothie together, Mama? Can I find out?), getting answers (yes! and Mama, it tastes good!). Which means it might do me well to listen, and also make room for her to air her ideas. Which right now are very messy ideas.
But look at that happy face! Look at that filling-up belly!