Half a year

Micah turned six months old on March 12th. And then my heart broke into a million pieces, because when everyone said it would go by so fast, they were right.

So around a week and a half ago, we introduced Micah to solids foods. I'd planned on waiting until a few weeks after the 6-month mark, but he had begun to stare so intently at anyone eating real food, it was getting creepy. It started at daycare, when they'd prop him up to watch them feed the older babies, then evolved to him tracking every movement of my fork to and from my plate and making grabs at any food within arm's reach, and ended with me feeling as if his next "milestone" would be to rip off and devour a chuck of my flesh if I didn't give him something more substantial than milk.

(And to think I always thought people who said, "the baby will tell you when he's ready for solids" were nuts.)

He had the spoon thing figured out before we even got started - his mouth was open like a little baby bird the moment he saw the bowl. It was what you DO with the food after it gets in your mouth that confused him, but after only a few WTF moments, he worked it out. Nowadays, the boy can suck down a bowl of rice cereal or bananas quicker than you can say nannerpus.

Being doting parents, we documented the entire experience; however, due to my own personal hang-ups regarding photos of children covered in food (I have personally vowed to never, ever subject anyone to a photo of my spawn covered in spaghetti), I will not be posting pictures of the introductory food event. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Instead, baby hand. OMNOMNOMNOMNOM.



Anyway, I'm trying very hard to view this new phase as a happy thing, but part of me is honestly a little sad. It's the first tiny step towards independence, the start of the gradual pull away from me, and it hurts a bit more than I expected.

You know what else hurts me? Solid food diapers. We won't even go there.