oops. i meant to eat that.

One part of mom-hood I didn’t expect was how often I would drop food on the floor — and even better — on C.’s chubby cheek. I’m constantly wearing C. against me — the heat box that he is — and it’s not easy to navigate a fork full of dinner over his gigantic baby head into my ravenous hippopotamus mouth (I’ve got a voracious appetite, and am constantly thinking about food. Especially oatmeal chocolate chip cookies). But I keep trying to shovel food up over C.’s head. Spaghetti bolognese? Splat. On his 1-week-old cheek. Salsa? Splat. On his white hat. I’ve dropped grapes and tomatoes and eggs on our hardwood floor. Too bad we don’t have a dog (and never will, sorry C.). My clumsiness must be preparation for when C.’s older and throwing spaghetti against the walls and giggling. And then he can say, “I learned it from watching you!”

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