I took Sabrina to her 9-month appointment the other day. Good news: No shots, therefore, no screaming. Yay! Bad news: Like all grandchildren of my mother (but sadly, not all her children), Sabrina is underweight. Not just the cute, 24th percentile of yesteryear, but 7th percentile. That's starvation rations! I need to feed that T-bone a little more! Check out the skinny arms: You can tell she's not one o' them babies with the fat rolls!
In order to fatten up the child for eating, er, I mean, I have been having her eat more. The problem is, it is WAY more convenient, to say nothing of being less messy, to just nurse her. But Sabrina, in order to gain weight and be big and strong, needs to eat food. SHE knows this. I think that's why she has been trying to eat the cat food. All the time. As is everything that she does wrong, this is my fault. If I were feeding her more, this would never happen. So, in order to prevent my child from eating cat food, I will feed her real food more often. Of course, the result is this, annoyingly often:
And then it gets on her hands, and she rubs her eyes, and wriggles out of her seat and wants me to pick her up while she grabs my hair. And, I might add, this is AFTER I shower. You got the part about her having blueberry/apple/sweet potato mash on her hands, right? I will accept spitup on my shirt, but I'll be danged if I'll let her get blueberry in my hair!