The decision to finally hand over a fork or spoon to a child for the first time is a daunting one. Once you do there's no going back; said child has now tasted (pardon the pun) the freedom of deciding what bite goes in when, and they're gonna like it. (Hate peas? No longer a problem. Just shovel those bad boys right to the floor.) You also must prepare yourself for the inevitable aftermath; you're going to be cleaning spaghetti off the walls, the floors, the child, yourself - and very possibly your other children - for days. But it has to happen at some point. Our point is now.
I got off easy with Ava. She wanted the food in her mouth and wasn't crazy about a mess, so she mastered the polite use of utensils pretty quickly. The younger of my progeny thinks messes are funny. And so, meal after meal, we have this:
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| The spoon here is really just for show; she shoveled most of that onto her head with her hands. |
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| Lasagna. This one required a bath. |
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| I just like the look of smug self-satisfaction in this one. |
Tomorrow we will all be wearing a peanut butter sandwich. Care to join us?
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