Rose obviously fed up of porridge as anyone must be who has been following this account of the weaning process. This morning she lolled her tongue and created a river of gruel down the front of her cardie. But after a nice kip she turned her attention to a small pot of my lovingly cooked chick pea stew, and – she loved it!! I sat her on my knee instead of the high chair so it was a bit more like sharing the meal, and she had five or six spoonsful followed by a gnaw of a roast potato. And then all was greasy and I regretted the potato mightily. Anyhow, up with garlic and herbs and down with baby rice.
New entry for the Turner prize: a kind of futuristic papier mache installation formed of sticking baby clothes together using porridge, poo, butternut squash and snot (presented in the form of a laundry basket).
Going out for dinner with husband tomorrow! Full of dread that baby will wake up hungry or some kind of unprecedented disaster will occur, and me and Jason will fight, and the food will be terrible and a comet will crash into the restaurant. Hopefully that litany of mishaps will eradicate hubris and we will have a good time. Or will we? Can’t be too careful with hubris, so touch wood.
Our new christmas tree has a Sydenham Angel topper. Isn’t she lovely?