I can’t believe that in less than two weeks time, my little BB turns six months old. Six months! What happened to my tiny newborn?
So, the six month milestone, huh? The milestone where thoughts turn to weaning. Yes, it’s time to pack away all the pale clothing and cover the floor in newspaper.
Let the carrot versus clean freak battle commence!
When CK reached the golden six months milestone, I spent a fortune on freezable purée containers and spent hours in the kitchen lovingly preparing mashed anything for my boy’s delectation.
It was official.
I was the best mum EVER.
And then CK tasted my offerings. Carrot. Yuck. Apple. Yuck. Pear. Yuck. Sweet potato. Yuck. Rice with water. Yuck. Rice with breast milk. Two spoonfuls but still yuck. Week upon week upon week, the same result.
Turns out my limited kitchen skills don’t even extend to making blitzed fruit and veg palatable.
I was the WORST mum ever.
When he reached seven months and I’d spent a gazillion hours frantically puréeing mulch that he would steadfastly refuse, I decided to hit the local Coop and buy a couple of *whispers* jars. Yes, jars. Mainly of the apple variety (seems that Swiss babies love apple and only apple – or they have way more kitchen-capable parents than my boys and don’t have to resort to jars).
Over to CK.
My apple. Yuck. Disgusting. Face-gurningly horrendous.
The apple from the jar. Well, wouldn’t you know it; it was the nectar of the gods.
He. Could. Not. Get. Enough.
It was then that I gave up and gave in. My baby would be weaned on food prepared by strangers. Cue many Ella’s Kitchen care packages winging their way over to Switzerland during the next few months.
So this brings me to my current dilemma.
CK, at two years and nine months, having been weaned on jars and pouches, is rarely fussy when it comes to food. He eats exactly the same meals as Paul and I and loves herbs and spices.
Do I therefore adopt the lazy mama method of weaning with BB and quickly put in a call to my mother to start buying up Ella’s Kitchen pouches or do I slave away in the kitchen, using time that I really don’t have, to make a milligram of purée that will potentially be refused?
Yeah, I’m going with the care packages again.
I am the WORST mum ever.