We’re headed out of town tomorrow to celebrate my Dad’s birthday and give Little Dude some quality bonding time with his cousins, so I took a trip to the supermarket yesterday to stock up for the voyage. Along with airplane snacks for Mommy and Daddy I bought quite a supply of baby food; believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve done so. Although our little guy has been on solids for a couple of months now, I spend enough time in the kitchen preparing food for Wifey and myself that so far it’s been no skin off my back to steam and blend his meals as well.
As he and I are often out and about, three meals a day means often feeding him at least one of them in public. So there have been witnesses – several of whom have recently commented to me on his obvious enthusiasm for cuisine. Seriously, though – I’m talking about shaking and moaning over carrots and cauliflower.
When I smile thankfully and respond to folks that I prepared his meal myself, many are taken aback. “Funny, you don’t look like a hippie,” some of them say. (FYI, people: he wears cloth diapers, too!)
Notwithstanding for a moment how hard it is to pin a label on me – Wifey and I do our best to defy easy categorization – I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge how spectacularly easy, cheap, and fun it can be to make one’s own baby food.
I am not alone here – just this weekend there was an interesting article in the New York Times on the subject, although to be honest I was a bit peeved by the fact that most of the at-home baby food chefs quoted were women. It would seem that – drum roll please – the commercial baby food industry is suffering annually from falling sales due to “a silent, pernicious trend going on that no one was really paying much attention to… mothers [and fathers] making their own food at home.”
I confess, I am one of these evil doers. But we didn’t really feel like packing our Baby Bullet along for the trip, so we’ve gotta do what we’ve gotta do.
Ultimately, I have no doubt that our wee one will nom down on these pre-packaged packets of grub as happily as he does on the meals that I make for him. But then again, maybe not. At the end of the day, I like to think that love is more delicious than convenience.