|
|
|
| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
|
|
|
December 2006 / January 2007 Contest Results |
Feeding
Carter
By Cameron Castle,
Washington
The first time I fed our son Carter solid food, well, semi-solid food,
it was quite a mess. It was a learning curve for both of us. My wife,
Laura, almost over-heard my remark, a remark that made perfect sense to
Carter and me, but I think would have not gone over so well with “Mom.”
“Look Carter, if you spill the rest of this stuff, we’re done.”
Now I am better at it, but maneuvering that little rubber-covered spoon
with dripping sweet potatoes or whatever on it into his mouth, still
reminds me of being at the miniature golf course and trying to putt the
ball through the clown’s mouth before it closes.
As Laura was feeding Carter after she got home from work with her coat
still on and, I think, her laptop bag strung over her shoulder, she
said, “Look how cute he is grabbing for the spoon.” I pressed mute on
the remote. She continued, “You know, this is very important for when he
progresses to the finger food stage. They say in all the books that
grabbing for the spoon is the first sign that they are getting ready to
start feeding themselves.”
“Oh, really.” I said, pretending to think that was either interesting or
true. I can’t remember which because, though I can see the play
unfolding on the T.V. I really want to hear the announcers so that I can
disagree with their analysis. “That’s nice.”
“No really. I know you think that a lot of that stuff I read is a bunch
of hooey, but it’s true, they need to develop the skills to feed
themselves and grabbing the spoon is the first part. Oh, you’re missing
your game. Sorry.”
I think to myself at this point, two things. “Man, she is a wonderful
person,” and “What a load of crap.”
Everything he has touched since the day he discovered he had hands, has
gone directly into his mouth. A book, a toy block, a rattle, the dog's
ear, everything. I could set a pinecone or a pair of pliers on his tray
and he will immediately shove them in his mouth. So . . . the thought of
having to train him to put food in his mouth seemed ludicrous to me.
“Come here Laura, let me show you something.” I took a Zwieback teething
biscuit out of the package and handed it to Carter. I have been told
that infants love these things. My guess, though, is that Dr. Zwieback
was trying and failed to produce an adult product of packaged toast.
I gave Carter the one-inch thick, oval, brown, crunchy Zwieback teething
biscuit. He held it up in his hand like the Statue of Liberty holding
her torch, and dropped it on the floor. I know that he will soon learn
to like this biscuit, but Gracie the dog took to it immediately and
devoured it.
No problem. I tore off a soft piece of bread the size of a Cheerio, and
laid it in on his tray. With the dexterity of a jewelry engraver, he
picked it up delicately between his thumb and forefinger, held it up in
front of his nose, then moved his arm to the right until it was
completely outstretched, and then, more like an experienced crane
operator, dropped it on Gracie’s head.
Okay, how about a Cheerio?
He dropped it right into Gracie’s open mouth.
I got a single green pea. I set it down in front of him fearing that
failure with this item could also include it going up his nose. He
picked it up in his cute little fingers and flung it over his right
shoulder, where it bounced off the sliding glass door behind him and
took two hops right into the dog’s water bowl.
I gave him a part of a mandarin orange segment. It was juicy and sweet.
It smelled delectable. Fruit is always his favorite of the foods we have
been feeding him. And guess what? I was amazed to find out that Gracie
loves mandarin oranges.
I gave up. “Laura, you win. Let the training begin.”
I have no idea what instinctual mechanism is at work that makes an
infant put the plug of an extension cord in his mouth, though not a
Cheerio. But I am now aware of this phenomenon, and will, from now on,
pay more attention to the wisdom that Laura acquires from reading all
those informative books.
Nah...
.
|