Let the Battle Begin: Introducing 'Real Food'

Now, before I begin, I should mention that I am, quite frankly, a lazy person. Not lazy as in drain-on-society, crap-houseguest kind of lazy, but if I am offered the choice of doing something the easy way, I’m not hard to persuade. Hence one of the many reasons why breastfeeding is brilliant. Admittedly during those first tumultuous weeks with the around-the-clock feedings and bleeding nipples bottles were a luring temptress, but I always saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Bottles, while deliciously handy once in a while (and lovely for Daddy to have some bonding time), involve formulas and teat sizes and sterilization and temperatures and all of those things that, being perfectly honest, I am simply too lazy for. Breastfeeding, on the other hand, is always readily available and the perfect temperature. Just whip ‘em on out and get on with it.

    That said, thing were going along swimmingly. Then he hit six months and while other mothers had been pureeing carrots for their wee ones for a couple months now, mine was still happily slurping away at the breast. How had it snuck up on me so fast? I had skipped the weaning chapters in my baby books, this strange and foreign weaning business was still ages away. Wasn’t it?

 I dug my feet into the ground for as long as possible, ignoring comments such as ‘He hasn’t had any solids? At all?’ and ‘Maybe just a little bit of Pablum to top him up’ until even Arjun’s health visitor sent me home from a check-up with a pamphlet on weaning. Whipping out a boob is considerably easier than mucking about with ‘real food’ I really wasn’t ready for him to stop breastfeeding. Easy for him, easy for me, win-win? No?

Nonetheless, I armed myself for battle; with my Annabel Karmel recipes, my tommee tippy heat-sensing spoons. I bought the freshest and most nutritious organic food in the produce aisle, spent the afternoon sterilizing and pureeing and freezing. My deepfreeze was stocked with nutritionally-packed mini-meals that I’d just have to pop into a bowl and microwave for a minute. I emerge from the kitchen, triumphant and splattered with parsnip where I found my husband. Feeding him icecream.