Banana breath
Baby went to the doctor today for his four-month shots. He’s only in 75th percentile for weight and 90th for height. Last visit he was 90th and 97th, respectively and I was unreasonably proud. I am not too worried about the drop this time, on the theory that it is hard to get a really accurate height on a squirmer, and chubby formula-fed babies blow the curve on weight, but the doctor pushed the rice cereal and fruit agenda again. We are interested in baby-led weaning, starting at six months to give him foods he can grab and get in his mouth himself, and only offering solids after he has had breastmilk. But he is starting to be very interested in what we are eating, and putting everything in his mouth and so… The Banana.
Our friend gave us a mesh pacifier that you can put a frozen banana stump in for them to teeth on, and I put in a chunk of mushy ripe banana and squeezed a little through to get him started.
He was thrilled. He gummed it to a pulp. I worried that he had totally weaned himself right in front of my eyes, and would demand smushed fruit around the clock from now on.
It has a ring so he can hold it himself, my little monkey. In a flash he went from being an infant to a banana-breath baby boy.
But not long afterwards he wanted proper dinner, and now we are on the 10 o’clock feeding as usual. And I am glad. Bananas are a part of our lives now, and probably apples and pears—maybe even rice cereal—but momma is still on the menu too.
