Mother of the Year

Let me start by saying the food tonight was really amazing. Really, it was. And the service was great and my family was treated with respect. That said, we never should have gone to this restaurant tonight.

Why?

BECAUSE IT IS INAPPROPRIATE TO TAKE YOUR BABY TO DINNER AT A BAR!!!

In our defense, everything leading up to our choice to go to Sweet Fingers in San Leandro tonight made us believe that we were going nowhere other than a restaurant that also served alcoholic beverages. Their website, the fact that we bought a gift certificate from Restaurant.com, and the Yelp reviews I scanned all seemed to scream "Yes! You can enjoy all our Caribbean classics with the entire family!"

However, as we walked up to the door, my inner self started to panic and something was telling me, "You are about to make a horrible mistake." This was further confirmed when we walked in and smelled something that, how shall I say, immediately gave me the munchies.

We were greeted by a "hostess" who was, not surprisingly, confused as to why we were even there. And over the course of the next 2.5 seconds, Grant and I had this entire conversation using only our eyes as communication:

Me: Um, this is a bar.
Him: I know.
Me: We are the only people here!
Him: I know.
Me: We are the only white people here!
Him: I know.
Me: And it smells like pot in here!
Him: I know.
Me: What do we do?
Him: I don't know.
Me: Do we bail? We can't bail. Oh my God, everyone is staring at us.
Him: I know.
Me: We are terrible parents.
Him: I know.

So I said the only logical thing I could think of.

"Do you guys have high chairs?"

They did. One. It was broken.

But we stayed. Me in my cowl neck sweater, Grant in his western shirt and Converse sneakers and my very blond, very blue-eyed, VERY vocal 7-month-old baby boy. In retrospect, we probably should have left. But if we had left, we never would have gotten that amazing jerk chicken. Or the brown stew with lamb. Or a rum, sorrel & ginger beer cocktail.

Or a contact high.

My Little Parsnip

I think I finally found one. Parsnips. Yes, I am pretty positive that my son doesn't like parsnips. Because up until this point he eats anything that I put in his mouth. I mean, it is no surprise that he likes bananas, sweet potatoes, apple and pear sauce (with and without cinnamon) and carrots. But he also likes peas, spinach, avocado and broccoli. Broccoli which smelled like farts while I was making it and while he was eating it. Farts. F-A-R-T-S. Stinky, broccoli farts.

Yes, most of Charlie's food I make at home but when we are on the go, I opt for the jarred stuff. But have you ever tried some of that stuff? I remember the day I was feeding him "Winter Squash" and after I tried it and literally looked at him and said, "Really Charlie? Because this is gross." And Charlie just looked up at me as if to say, "Right, and your point, Mom?" I am not trying to say that I drizzle curry oil over his strained carrots or make him "minted pea" mash but the jar stuff doesn't even taste fresh.

When I say he "likes" everything, I should probably clarify. He displays two different emotions when it comes to his food. There is the stuff he really likes, like apples, pears, carrots and bananas. I know this because with each bite he makes long, convincing "Mmmmmmmmmm" noises. In general he is fairly content during most of the meal. Pretty much everything else, he seems indifferent to, as far as taste is concerned. However, at some point in nearly all his meals, he turns into a child that I swear I did not give birth to. I try to imagine the thoughts he is having inside his tiny, little brain as the meal progresses. It probably goes something like, "Hmmm, this tastes strange/good/awesome/weird/whatever. But mom, that doesn't mean stop. Mom! Why are you stopping! MOM! FOOD! WAAAAAAA!"

That's right. If you are not shoving the food into his mouth at a continuous pace, Charlie becomes very, VERY upset. Even if after a pause, the rate at which I'm feeding him returns to an acceptable, lightning-speed pace, if he so much as remembers those few moments when I had to stop for whatever reason, the cycle starts all over again. He starts screaming, his face turns the color of marinara sauce and he begins slamming his head and body against the back of his highchair in anger. I don't get it.

"What are you upset about, Son? I am feeding you! Not shoving hot pokers in your eyes, which, based on the shrillness of your screams is what the neighbors think I am doing!!"

The only explanation I can come up with is this: demonic possession.

But despite the tears, the anguish, the moments when his head spins around 360 degrees and he sprout fangs, he will eat it all and then some. And I can only assume that he likes it because it all goes in with not so much as a crumb left on his face.

But then I made him parsnips.

Nope, those didn't go over well. He kept screaming for more bites but after about five or six spoonfuls I realized that he was not swallowing any of it and instead was storing the mush on either side of his cheeks. It was like he was hoping that the next bite would be something delicious but, nope...still parsnips.

Well, that's ok with me. I couldn't really ask for a less picky child and parsnips are a little weird. And so long as I am mixing them with carrots, sweet potatoes or applesauce he is eating them. Reluctantly, but he is eating them. And I'm not going to tell him this but I'm sure it won't be the last time I will hide veggies in his food.