Poor kid. For weeks he’s been watching us with intense interest whenever we eat, always trying to swipe the cookies, apples, water, or what have you out of our hands. (The funny thing is that he would always move his hand slooooowly up to the treat, cartoon-character-style, as if that would prevent us from noticing.)
Finally, we set him in the high chair, rope a bib around his little chicken neck, and bring out the bowl. He kicks his little chubby legs, and makes a grab for the spoon, grunting like a pale pink monkey the entire time. I have to hold his hands down just so I can give him some delicious — wallpaper paste!
Seriously, have you ever tasted the rice cereal? Completely flavorless. Who can blame William for the look of disenchantment? Who can blame him for letting the stuff just spill out of his mouth?
I wonder if rice cereal’s similarity to glue is the reason why so many second graders end up eating paste in art class. (“Mmmm! This Elmer’s is just like the kind Mama used to make!”)
For his entire life, William has feasted on Triple-Cream Mama Milkshakes, served up hot and fresh on demand, but his introduction to the real culinary world seems like something an orphan would eat in a Dickens novel. Is this symbolic of Something?
“Welcome to the real world, kid! Here, have some gruel!”