He eats (kind of).

First: Let's talk about how Mike & I were supposed to be out for a rare night with friends right this very second, but instead, I just took off my not-breastfeeding-appropriate blouse & changed into a Vampire Weekend tshirt & sweats. Our babysitter didn't show up (we called to confirm that he did in fact not get hit by a bus - nope, just forgot), so we're home watching basketball instead. My home town team vs. my alma mater. Mike is not-so-secretly just fine with this, but I'm sort of bummed. We had a sleeping baby, I was wearing lipgloss & shoes that aren't comfortable walking long distances in, & ready for a night out of our apartment. Oh well. The game is on & sushi is ordered. We have Monday night plans that include a more reliable babysitter in the form of friend Suzi.

This week has been big for Q. He's THISCLOSE to sleeping 12 hours straight. It has marked the end of swaddling for Quinn (sad face), & the beginnings of solid food (bigger sad face). I found myself feeling melancholy much of the day, I think because in the deepest overly hormonal caverns of my brain, this represents so many things, amongst them independence. My baby has spent the last six months surviving off of me & all of a sudden I feel like he'll be asking a girl to prom next week. I just deleted an entire paragraph detailing my fears as a mother (including the inevitability of my son being exposed to all of the evils of this big + bad world), all of which are somehow (loosely?) represented in him taking his first bites of food. I'll save those for my husband, but seriously - the anxiety! It's fair to say that, as I've said a thousand times, these past 6 months have gone zoom.

The top photo. His last as a little baby!

And his high chair - it totally turns his eyes bright (!) green. 

Oh. And about the actual eating part. We'll call it mildly successful, with most of it on his bib than down his throat. We're moving slowly with this. Better luck tomorrow.