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Archive for November, 2009

hats

A. has been fashioning hats for himself and his friends, using various cutting-edge materials.

The above hats were made out of kleenex. He put the kleenex wad on the giraffe’s head, saying “Hat.” These hats were of the variety that can be worn two or three at a time.

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Zip It Good

Mister Finn has been talking a lot about zippers lately, except he says zippet instead of zipper. I started singing him Push It by Salt-n-Pepa, except instead of “Push It” of course we both say “Zip It.” He zips my sweatshirt up and down and says “Oh, zip it.”  I say “Zip it good.”  And the cuddly thing in a purple panda sleeper sweetly replies “Zip it real good.” The whole routine makes me nutty and I devour his cheeks.

 

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Our Daily Bread

I have very few moments where my domestic abilities flourish into a prowess that I fantasize might make Martha Stewart faint with envy. Ok, maybe there’s just one. I make Mister Finn’s food. I cook him meat and vegetables (because he bizarrely prefers them to fruit and grains), purée them in the blender, fill these little BPA-free containers, and freeze them in labeled bags. It’s actually not that hard. But I always feel proud when I peer into the freezer and see these colored bricks glistening with freezer dew.

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{clockwise from top left: cherries, spinach and beef, mango and chicken, sweet potatoes, pears and pork}

As is common with preemies, Mister Finn has a now-ingrained physiological suspicion of new textures coming towards his face and going down his throat. Chunky foods cause much distress and usually end in gagging and vomiting. We are making improvement with chunky solids, but it’s really slow. We’re seeing an Occupational Therapist who maintains that we’re all doing great; even though our 17 month old can barely choke down a miniscule bite of pineapple.

Also, he is a blossoming tyrant toddler who must assert that he is the agent who will decide what and how much he eats.

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Eating is emotional and precarious for all of us now. Sometimes we have peaceful lunches of roast beef (puréed to perfection, of course); other dinners feature screaming refusals of chicken and avocado (which he gobbled up happily the day before). The romance of my frozen orange and green cubes dissolves quickly. Along with the smattering of rejected offerings on the floor, which the puppy eagerly laps up while dodging more air strikes from the high chair.

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The whole process can be exhausting.

I am grateful that my child is at least eating, as I’ve heard that many toddlers can’t be bothered with the activity. I figure the worst thing that could happen is he could end up eating soup and smoothies the rest of his life. Which won’t happen. (right?)

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