Dairy King
While Henry still rejects fruit like a nudist rejects underpants. Meaning, we can buy it for him all we want, but when push comes to shove, he’s naked.
That really didn’t make any sense…
Anyway, fruit aside Henry loves to eat, and is getting pretty good at the spooning and forking and general shoveling. He’s still wearing a bib (when does that stop?), but usually he’s not so filthy after he eats that we have to immediately give him a bath.
The biggest problem is that, given a choice, Henry would eat pasta and cheese exclusively.
“Henry, what do you want for breakfast?”
“Pasta.”
“Let’s think of something different. How about some oatmeal? Or a waffle?”
“Cheese.”
“How about sausage?”
“Sausage!? Uh…” (It is here that we think we have him, because usually an offer of some sort of encased meat will get to him. But, no…) “Pasta!”
Sigh.
Luckily, Henry’s love for pasta and cheese encompasses all their variants. So he’s not just eating American cheese or mozzarella string cheese. He loves feta and sharp cheddar and blue, and has, of late, been devouring this garlic cheddar like it’s candy. (For him it is candy.) And it’s definitely not just macaroni and cheese or spaghetti with Ragu; he loves ravioli with spinach or stuffed shells or chunky (ie, full of tomatoes and onion) sauce.
Last night, we were downstairs in the back patio area of our building where there are tables and chairs set up. Our neighbors were there eating their dinner (a pesto tortellini) and the one neighbor foolishly offered Henry some. A few minutes later, half her plate was empty and we were dragging a crying baby away.
“Pasta! Pasta!”
He doesn’t cry for me, his own father, but he’ll wail for food. Lovely.
