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Motherhood
Highchair Politics
Freedom is messy
Babies feeding themselves is one of my favorite developmental milestones. It’s adorable. Sweet potato-lathered cheeks and sour faces of discovery are the golden gems of my camera roll.
It also means freedom.
Freedom from holding a bottle or 15 pounds and counting worth of baby to your chest. A type of freedom that is bittersweet to parents holding on, yet desperately ready for that first thread of apron strings to unravel.
And for our baby selves, it is one of the first tastes of freedom we ever experience.
Whether it was from a spoon or self-weaned, we finally had a bit of agency. We could spit it out without consequence unless you count three days of macerated peas because that is what the books say to do to build affinity as a consequence.
It isn’t an easy developmental step.
Fun and games for the kid, another messy, anxiety-ridden milestone for the parent.
We must worry about pesticides and whether or not to offer peanut butter before six months. Is there honey in that? Is this rash because they had cheese at lunch? How small is too small to cut a grape?
