Me: Guess what this is...
Her: Frosting? Pureed cauliflower? Cauliflower frosting? Caulk?
Me: That, my friend, is a chicken thigh.
Her: Hurk. I need therapy.
Me: So does Sam. :)
We took Sam to the doctor last Wednesday. He weighs 17 lbs, 12 oz and is 27.5 inches long. He's getting six teeth. He got three shots, and he gave the nurse one major stink-eye. Everything seems to be going just fine with our little man.
The interesting thing was the doctor's face when she read that he eats 50 ounces of formula each day. She thought it was a typo. It wasn't a typo. He doesn't like solids very much. We really have to work to get him to eat from a spoon. Every now and then he'll scarf things down, but most of the time he eats 7-10 bites and then clamps his jaw shut and grunts every time the spoon comes near his face. He can avoid a spoon like it's an Olympic sport. It makes sense, I guess. I mean, why work to eat solids when you can just suck your food down in liquid form while chilling in mom or dad's lap, right? I'm seeing a pattern develop. Unless he is directly motivated to do something he doesn't see a need to do it. Why roll over when you can lay on your back comfortably? Why make the effort to reach for toys when you have hands and feet that are perfectly easy to access. My child is a hard worker. Cough, cough.
Back to the issue at hand...The pediatrician says it's time to introduce protein. She says he needs meat. She says he needs solids more often. Okie dokie. I cooked a boneless, skinless chicken thigh and pureed the heck out of it with water and broth. I had high hopes. After all, his father is quite the carnivore. We waited until we knew he was really hungry and put him in the high chair. He was excited. He knows what happens in the high chair.
Here is what happened.
Have you ever seen anything quite so pathetic? After I turned the camera off he cried. He actually cried because we gave him meat. So we gave him some squash. Which he ate 10 bites of and proceeded with Operation Avoid The Spoon.
The end result, after nearly 20 minutes of begging, coaxing, and laughing our butts off, was that we gave in and heated up a bottle. And when he saw the bottle he was one happy chicken-squash-covered little dude.
But before he got his bottle we had to wash the chicken and squash off his face. And out of his hair.
Samuel Bennett Turner, you're lucky you're cute.