Oral Obsession

"I wouldn't say he's far behind. But yeah, he's behind."

With those words, my heart broke into a million tiny pieces. Just like the supposedly unbreakable Corelle bowl that Spence broke the night before when he ceremoniously rejected my attempt at prunes. (Yes, prunes. The love was a one time event.)

I just stared at the doctor. Her resident looked on, nodding knowingly. She looked to be about 24.

"If he doesn't start opening up his mouth and eating solids, he'll need to go see a specialist. He most likely has oral aversion."

Oral aversion? From the boy that nurses 24/7? What about kids developing in their own time? And the fact that he's only 8 months? Doesn't breast milk provide all the nutrition he needs until age 1? You rarely meet a healthy kid, which he is, who doesn't ever eat. Breastfeeding 18 year olds? I don't think so.

But, I nodded. Terrified.

"And how does he do with the Gerber Puffs? Yo Baby? ... What? You haven't given him Gerber Puffs?"

Call the Bad Mom Police. I have denied the boy Gerber Puffs. If you opt out of capitalism, you need to go see a specialist.

"Yes, he has another four weeks to see if he develops before we'll refer him. And how's he sleeping?"

I should have just walked out. It was a trick question. I had been counseled by friends to just lie in these situations, but like cows to the slaughter... I told her.

There was a whirlwind of words, clicking of cry-it-out, and doctor-giggles masked as empathy and then Spence and I were walking out of the doctor's office. A full 90 minutes after we walked in.

It took me a good 11 hours to realize that the doctor was full of shit. Before then, there were lots of self-doubt, fear and sweet potato Gerber Puffs. And now?


He's starting to feed himself. Sucker.

Prunes! Prunes! Prunes!

We've tried avocados, bananas, sweet potatoes, broccoli, butternut squash, peaches, rice cereal, nectarines, green beans, pears, apples, peas, carrots, pluots, mum mums, and they were met with only scowls until...PRUNES!

It is the only food that he will routinely open up his mouth to eat.

Delight is a word that cannot possibly capture my excitement. Bliss? Rapture? Tickled pink?

And it is wrapped in with memories of a friend's mom, Pam. With every mouth full and expression of mirth, I think of Pam and how she lived her life with sheer joy. My mind drifts to memories of Pam dressed up as the Easter Bunny and hopping across the family room. (We were in college.) And her sun-like smile on her son's wedding day.

Why do prunes lead to warm fuzzies of Pam? No, she did not have issues with constipation. She was, however, the prune grand dame of Yuba City. The queen of the famed Prune Festival, now the Dried Plum Festival.

Pam left us way too soon. I wish that there were new memories to add to the old. But as Spence chows down on the prunes, I think of Pam and grin.

The Product of My Addiction

It's not sex.
It's the baby food.

I am addicted to making baby food. In my freezer, I currently have 14 ziplock bags of food, each with an average of 12 portions. From apples to zucchini. All carefully labeled and frozen into little ice cubes, which are ready to serve at a moments notice.

I have a whole mantra that plays in my head as I am steaming the latest organic veggie that I picked up on sale at the co-op. 'It's social action against commercialism!' I tell myself. A rebellion against multinational corporations that try to tell us that food in a jar is superior to what I can cook. It is a statement for the earth. Organic foods will help make the earth safe for all of us. It is a move that will ensure that Spence is introduced to and loves a wide assortment of foods.

In the 15 minutes it takes to throw together some pluot puree, I have fostered more than just a sense of quick accomplishment. I have convinced myself that I am saving the world.

And my reward?

Moving to the Country, Gonna Eat alotta Peaches?

Apparently, Spence is a city boy.

As of right now, he will eat no peaches. Nor avocados. Nor bananas.
He'll grab at food. He'll open his mouth wide in expectation of a tasty morsel. But, if the food touches his lips, he winces, shakes his head and seems to exclaim, 'Damn, mom. What are you trying to do to a son?"

I was not excited to serve the boy food. Other mothers told me stories of how fun it was to watch their little one sample the fruits of our world. Try all different exotic foods and wait for the reaction. Not me. I mashed up the avocado and mixed in the breast milk under duress.

I didn't want him to grow up so quickly. Whenever we cross the threshold of our home, I am guaranteed to hear "Enjoy it! They grow up so quickly" usually accompanied with a wistful sigh. I take it seriously. Even though Spence will be six months on Saturday, I am already wistful.

There are already so many things that he's left behind....the turtle yawn, the relaxing "ahh" after the sneeze.... I breathe in every moment and don't want to exhale. It's hard to hold in my head all the minute details that I never want to forget. Each day, the list gets longer.

Here's to sweet potatoes on Wednesday...