I know that my son will have to give up breastfeeding during the day when I go back to work soon.
I know it.
But I don’t quite believe it.
We were doing moderately well on the weaning front.
By ‘well’ I mean I had developed a system where I’d tap him gently on the back of his neck whilst making loud clucking noises and he’d get distracted enough to open his mouth very slightly for a millisecond, where by I’d post a smear of baby food into his mouth.
That ship has sailed.
He now favours a diet of mainly paper, which he finds on the floor and fills his face with until the entire roof of his mouth is paper mache.
Which would be fine if there was any kind of nutritional value in an Aldi receipt.
Alternatively he'll eat the odd rice cake.
Only if he's found it under the table, it's been there for at least a day and is covered in fluff and hair.
But give him breast milk and he's a different boy.
He'll drink until he's full then be all laughs and baby giggles.
Instead of bucking like a dog in the bath when he's in his high chair, wearing a Joker-style smile of Greek yoghurt from where he's shaken his head repeatedly whilst I've held a spoon to his mouth.
Now, I know the health visitors give it all the, 'food is fun until they're one,' mantra.
But that's no use if you're going back to work when they're nine months old.
However much 'fun' food is meant to be, it's not going to be that much of a laugh if you refuse it eight hours a day whilst you wait for the walking milk bar to return from work.
So I've just got to hang in there and hope that we turn a corner in the next couple of weeks.
My daughter refused a bottle until literally the night before I returned to work, which felt like the mother of all practical jokes.
Maybe my son has the same hilarious sense of humour and will wait until the Sunday night before I go to work to give it the big thumbs down to breast milk and opt for a roast with all the trimmings instead.
Don’t miss the next You Can Take Her Home Now post: