I am milk, once crooned Garbage. For most of her short life the same could be said of Isabelle, but now she was entering a new phase, a new dawn of taste and sensation explosions in her little mouth. To paraphrase a later Garbage song, the milk is not enough!
Isabelle’s enjoying her experimentation period with all things food and she is a particularly big fan of dairylea and raspberry jam on toast, spag bol, cauliflower cheese, apple and pear custard, banana’s (a big fan of those at the mo), chicken casserole, apple and pumpkin rice cakes and carrot and tomato organic crisps, that look like a cross between giant grubs and wotsits. What’s curious about the latter is that Isabelle isn’t a massive fan of proper carrots, just like me and Missy then, or tuna for that matter. (Since originally penning this item Isabelle does now actually like carrots, but the apparently it does sometimes take 15 tastes of something for a baby to like it, who knew.)
With real food comes real and more regular solid items the other end to where the food comes in. This can make nappy changing time a risky and smelly business. Its pot luck on what you might get and when you might get it.
You could call it Russian roulette, but I prefer to brand it more Russian toilette, never knowing if it is going to sting your eyes and breathing a sigh of relief when it is just heavy and wet and that you needn’t have gingerly opened up each side of the nappy as if you were defusing an unexploded bomb, or bum to be precise. But you can only outrun the bum for so long before it catches up with you…