The Good Eater

So, my kid is a good eater. At 8 months old, he’s 22 pounds of good appetite, and it shows. I think he has learned his gustatory gusto from yours truly—my husband’s approach to food is decidedly more utilitarian. This isn’t to say he doesn’t enjoy food—he does. He just doesn’t treat it with the same enthusiasm I do. My family just loves food. We aren’t gourmets or exclusive junk food junkies—we are equal-opportunity eaters. My husband’s people, not so much. My mother-in-law appears to hate food unless it can be slurped through a straw (iced tea, iced vanilla lattes and those horrific yogurt drinks), and I am fairly certain my sister in law has had long stretches of her life where she ate only tuna fish.

But Davis, like me, loves food. He’s crazy about oatmeal and fruit, tolerates most vegetables with a good attitude, and doesn’t even wince at the tofu I mix into stuff. He’s recently tried baby-food chicken and we may have found one food he doesn’t like. I can’t blame him; it smells like the canned chicken called “mixin’ chicken” which consists of whatever’s left over after the cans of chicken breast have been processed. Not appetizing to anyone—except the cat, which should tell you something.

So anyway, the other night, my milk ran out after the big fella’s going-to-bed feeding and my husband duly went in with a 7-oz. bottle for the oh-I-just-need-something-to-tide-me-over feeding at 10PM. We didn’t really think he’d have much—he’d just eaten and nursed 3 hours earlier, and sometimes he just sips, like he’s savoring a nightcap or something. Well, 20 minutes later, my husband came out and said, “Well, that kid might look like me,” and he looked me in the eye as he set down the empty bottle, “but he’s definitely one of your people.” I don’t know why, but this made me laugh and laugh.