Part of my nightly routine now is to pack breakfast and lunch for Baby. It’s mostly like the same four meals. These are the things he eats:
* quesadilla with broccoli
* sunflower butter sandwiches with broccoli
* soy nuggets with broccoli
* eggs with broccoli
* whatever I’m eating
Simple. Mostly, it takes boiling or microwaving, which I can handle. Anyway, it reminds me of the lunches my mom used to pack for me — peanut butter, banana, jelly sandwiches, a bottle of pear nectar, and a piece of fruit.
Most days, I threw everything out except the sandwich. The pear nectar, which seemed too weird in the age of Caprice Sun silver pouches, had to go, and nearly every piece of fruit embarrassed me — bananas looked too phallic, peaches looked like bums. Oh, it was endless, that list of things that could make me turn beet red. The only fruit I could actually eat in public were apples. My mom, of course, did not know any of this, because I never told her.
I don’t really have a point. It’s just that there’s no way of knowing, in a way, what exactly your kid is thinking. Baby is still too young to hide too much from me but I wonder how much I will actually divine as he gets older. Maybe he’ll be the only with a liquid drink and all the other kids have capsules, etc., etc., etc.