Except for broccoli, which is really funny to watch him not only bat it away as you approach his mouth with your fork, but also to watch him physically take it off the fork, look at it for a second, then just reach over the edge of the highchair tray and drop it on the floor.
As if to say, "Get this junk out mah face."
Campbell Isaiah started out on baby formula, store bought, first with Emfamil, then with Gerber Baby, which the latter worked better for us. The former gave him bad gas and bad, bad spit... the day that I literally went through 10, count them, 10 t-shirts for me and 6, count them, 6 onesies for him is burned into my mind as a day that will live in infamy. Emfamy. There was one point when he spit up all over me and my shirt, so I changed, then changed him, and I actually took two steps towards the door with him in my arms when he spit up again. It was rough that day... I texted The Lovely Steph Leann out of sheer frustration and panic with "I can't do this!" and "Just one. Never doing this again. He's an only child."
Looking back, I probably didn't mean it. But ten shirts with various amounts of baby vomit on it? Come on now...
We started making our own formula several months into this parenthood thing, this time using Goat's Milk... we made lots and lots AND LOTS of goats milk, each pitcher with scoops of baby supplements and vitamins and such.
And eventually, we moved into real food.. we had already decided that we would go natural and organic. We knew over time that there might be a slight delay with our kid--and we were right--so we wanted to make sure he was as healthy as possible...
So, several nights per week, I pull out my trusty peeler and work on the aforementioned fruits and vegetables... I'll actually be doing some apples tonight.
Campbell is a kid of routine. He likes routine, he likes familiar. For instance, he typically knows what to do when we lay him down to change his diaper. He might cry some, maybe move a little, but mostly he lays there... and when you go to put his pants back on him, most of the time he will lift both legs to make it easy.
At school, he knows its time for lunch after outside playtime, and he always follows the line perfectly to the class door... he knows its time to eat.
Similarly, here at The Cabana, when his meal is ready, be it a couple of eggs and a 1/2 avocado for breakfast, or an orange, some pineapple, some peas and beets (with almond butter) for lunch, when you say, "Ready to eat?" he heads for the kitchen.
Not only does he head for the kitchen, he goes straight for the high chair, and starts pawing at the belt buckle. He will look around, and if he can reach far enough on the kitchen table, he will snatch whatever he can get his hands on, be it a vitamin pill or a bowl full of kiwi, and try to eat it. Because dinner.
T (we steam it, then freeze it, then thaw and warm upon serving), and take them to the table, along with a juice bottle--prune is his favorite, though he does like cherry juice, grape juice and pear juice too.
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| part of what our freezer has looking like for 10d |
There's a fork we grab, and then we wet a napkin to wipe his face every few bites. He can be messy sometimes, and by sometimes, I mean all the time.
We aren't perfect, and we forget stuff. And there's nothing more fearful than forgetting something big, like his prune juice. Cause he ain't patient, and he ain't caring that you have had a long day... he wants to eat.
For the record, there is not a single time, not one single meal, not one single second that we have just forgotten something and then just not cared. Not once have we just blown him off, despite his crying, to say, "Whatevs, kid. You'll live."
He knows we won't leave. He knows we have food there, its in small bowls on the table, he knows that he will have that food in just a minute... but no, he wants to cry, and fuss, and smack the tray until he gets what he wants.
Its the same with God, ain't it?
Name a time He has forgotten you, or forsaken you, or just left you behind, saying "Whatevs, kid. You'll live."
Never.
We get involved in our own little routines, our own way of doing things, and when it doesn't go according to plan, when it doesn't happen EXACTLY like we thing it should, be it we should keep getting bites of almond butter and butternut squash, we pitch our little fits... smack the tray, cry, fuss, tell God that "this isn't how it is supposed to be!" and "where are you, God!" and "why are you doing this to me!?!" with the mindset that His silence is obviously Him walking away, to possibly never return.
When in fact, maybe He did take a step away. But He is always there. He never goes far, if at all. He might just be grabbing a Holy Napkin to wipe the junk off our face. He might be grabbing some Communion Juice to allow us, after a brief time of nothing, to drink of His Spirit...
Either way, God loves you and I both. And He would never leave us. Just like I would never leave Campbell alone and hungry.... I love him too, too much. And God loves us too, too much.
"Never confuse His silence for His inactivity" is a lesson I learned a long time ago... and some if it was the hard way... how about you? Is He being quiet? And how are you handling it?
