Bad egg

I must admit Mae has inadvertently become a creature of habit over recent days. My imagination seems to have narrowed to the size of a petit pois when it comes to thinking of meals, and so it's been pasta bows with Rafferty's Garden puree and cottage cheese or ricotta stirred in, served with some lamb or kangaroo with a side of either broccoli or cauliflower. Followed by watermelon and a yoghurt.

The poor girl has had this fail-safe gaggle (what's the collective noun for a random group of foods thrown together for their nutritional value and pick-up-ability? Perhaps a "cobble" would be better, as in, "cobbled together") most days for at least a week now. So it shouldn't have been a surprise when I pushed the boat out today and the boat was rejected - she too is now totally unable to think outside the bow-shaped square.

I had a look at another BLW blogger's page for inspiration and decided to grate a potato, an onion and some broccoli stem (I know, sounds random, but actually quite nice!) into a pan of hot oil, fry it up then break an egg in and fry it up some more. It seemed like a totally delicious feast to me, one of those decadent Friday night meals that your dad makes when your mum is away.

This was her face on tasting my offering:


After flinging it around the tray for a while, she grabbed a piece of egg and shoved it in her ear. It was at that moment that I realised we were through with dinner.

It also confirmed what I had suspected the last few times she's had it - that she has gone off egg. Better than the egg having gone off itself I suppose. Nevertheless, I am going to have to lift my game tomorrow if she is to be kept from turning into a pasta bow.

Dirty little secret

One of the reasons many parents prefer purees to finger food is that they are just so much bloody neater. Never having done purees, I was in somewhat blissful ignorance as to how many wipes, wipedowns and total wipeouts we could have avoided. But having lunch with a friend and her 7-month old today, I saw how the pears and yoghurt were neatly transfered into Miss Mac's mouth and with one wipe, we were done!

Meanwhile, Mae scoffed her cream cheese and tomato sandwich, wiping it across her ears, elbows and the table top (collecting the previous occupant's debris as she went). The obligatory mandarin that followed drenched her sleeves and orange bits found their way up her nose. Nine wipes later, we were done.


Let's see those Orangesleeves in more detail:



But I am so used to it now that I barely notice, and do you know what, it all comes out in the wash. Literally. She has a staple wardrobe of (white) Mothercare long-sleeved onesies, and at the end of each day we have at least two with illuminous orange up to the elbows and a necklace of watermelon. But I just pop them in a laundry sink of Napisan until the next machine wash and so far no stain has proved too tough! Now I sound like a bad eighties ad for washing powder.

Actually there's a thought, I should call up Omo, Mae could be the next star of a "before and after!" But then I'd have to play the sorry housewife with the chauvinist husband and the relentless sons with their relentless footballs. Perhaps I'll keep my dirty little secret to myself.