There's a Lot I Forgot About Babies
The Grammy Diaries
Nonfiction, Family & Relationships, Relationships, Grandparenting
| Author: | Terry Pickens | ISBN: | 9781483582993 |
| Publisher: | BookBaby | Publication: | September 30, 2016 |
| Imprint: | BookBaby | Language: | English |
| Author: | Terry Pickens |
| ISBN: | 9781483582993 |
| Publisher: | BookBaby |
| Publication: | September 30, 2016 |
| Imprint: | BookBaby |
| Language: | English |
I was totally unprepared for Damon’s next move. The little spoon was made out of hard plastic that must have felt good on his gums. Upon the approach of the next buzzing bee, Damon’s left hand shot out and he grabbed the spoon from my hand. He misjudged his first attempt to find his mouth and the sticky spoon landed in his hair, but he rapidly recalculated the proper direction and speed, and into his mouth it went. With his hand gripped around the handle and his jaws clamped on the spoon’s bowl, he was in control and determined to remain so. I was equally determined to finish the feeding. The only question was whether the food would end up mostly inside or outside the kid. But first I had to regain the spoon, and I attempted to pull it from his mouth and fist. No dice. He held on tighter and clamped down harder. I wasn’t prepared to give in so easily, though, and I tried to pry his little fist off the handle, one finger at a time, but both his hand and the spoon were slick with the combination of sweet potatoes and drool. We were now locked in a duel with neither of us ready to give in to the other. Then Jim began to laugh. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look? You’ve got sweet potatoes on your glasses and all over your shirt. You look like a Jackson Pollack canvas.”
I was totally unprepared for Damon’s next move. The little spoon was made out of hard plastic that must have felt good on his gums. Upon the approach of the next buzzing bee, Damon’s left hand shot out and he grabbed the spoon from my hand. He misjudged his first attempt to find his mouth and the sticky spoon landed in his hair, but he rapidly recalculated the proper direction and speed, and into his mouth it went. With his hand gripped around the handle and his jaws clamped on the spoon’s bowl, he was in control and determined to remain so. I was equally determined to finish the feeding. The only question was whether the food would end up mostly inside or outside the kid. But first I had to regain the spoon, and I attempted to pull it from his mouth and fist. No dice. He held on tighter and clamped down harder. I wasn’t prepared to give in so easily, though, and I tried to pry his little fist off the handle, one finger at a time, but both his hand and the spoon were slick with the combination of sweet potatoes and drool. We were now locked in a duel with neither of us ready to give in to the other. Then Jim began to laugh. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look? You’ve got sweet potatoes on your glasses and all over your shirt. You look like a Jackson Pollack canvas.”
