Watching my daughter squish and squelch her way through a previously beautifully presented plate of neatly batoned organic soft fruit and steamed veg is frankly nothing short of traumatising.
My cats haven’t come out of hiding for three days after each receiving a lump of courgette to the face during a mid morning veggie-meteor-shower.
I am probably averaging one packet of anti-bac surface wipes a day as I attempt to catch the flying pieces of pear and pumpkin; some of which have formed a mural across one patch of my dining room ceiling.
Most frustrating of all is when (very excitingly) a smushed up piece of fruit mush does get smashed into her general mouth area it’s met with an immediate gagging/coughing reflex, is immediately allowed to fall back out in its newly part-digested state and my daughter pulls what my husband and I call her ‘when I rule the world you bastards are gonna pay for this’ face.
I have now made the decision that the only way to persevere with weaning is to ‘crime-scene up’ my utility room. Plastic sheeting, gaffer tape, disposable rain ponchos for me and my husband, bio-degradable bags for the continuous food waste and industrial strength cling-film to coat the Bumbo. And an axe for when it all gets too much… Plus I’ve vacuum sealed my daughter. And the camera. And the cats.