Baby Karma

When I was three weeks old, my mum apparently offered me to the dustbin men. They refused to take me, and she was left to carry on walking me up and down the street through the early hours while I wailed in my pram. I never did become a good sleeper.
Later, it was trying to feed me that became the next battle. I didn’t want to eat, apparently.
So now, more than three decades later, i’m wondering if I should really be surprised that feeding and sleeping aren’t the Little Mister’s favourite activities. Maybe it’s some kind of cosmic payback for my own trying behaviour as a little one. Maybe its baby karma.
After six weeks of waking every two hours through the night for feeds, I’m hoping Milin has turned a corner. We’ve just had a few nights of four hour stretches, and while I’m trying not to set myself up for disappointment, I can’t help feeling a tiny bit optimistic. Which is good, because trying to get food into him is exhausting.
Given that I (pre-baby) wore heels out of necessity, Milin was never going to be a big baby. Tony was a nine pounder, but the Little Mister weighed in at six, just like me.
And now, with his weight sitting at the bottom percentile of the chart, I have to try not to obsess about what the scales say. (Story of my life?) He’s such a happy one, who finds so much joy in the world he sees with his big awe-struck eyes. But I would  like him to have a few more baby chub dimples on his arms and legs, and for his ribs just to poke out a little less.
We’ve been trying food for about a month and Milin has probably ingested a tablespoon of pear and half a teaspoon of baby cereal in that time. He’s become quite expert at pursing his lips, turning his head away from me, and pulling off his bib with a screech when he sees the spoon. He is also terrified of the noise made by the whizz as it purées his steamed fruit. It is, it would seem, even more frightening an object than the noisy hand dryers found in cafe toilets.
My freezer is full of tiny pots of liquidised pear and puréed kumera. Will they ever be eaten? Of course we’ve tried making meal times fun, I’ve sang songs, created puppet shows, distracted him, let him hold the spoon – yes, we’ve tried it.
I’m not worried – he is growing and will eat when he is ready, I know. In the mean time though, it’s hard not to turn our daily attempt at solids into a battle of wills. I have to keep reminding myself that such a battle would be pointless anyway, given that Milin is far too clever for me! And even at our failed meal times, he continues to amaze me. I would never have believed that someone so small could be so strong-willed. He might not like food yet, but at least he knows what he wants.

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