It’s, like, totally funny that you would wanna know all about what I eat, like, today of all days. Because if this were two weeks ago, I would have said, “Uh, duh, boob?” Like, what else would I eat, I’m a freakin’ baby! I mean, I don’t actually eat the boob—what do I look like, a cannibal? I don’t even have teeth!
No, I was on a pure liquid diet. Not like some skinny rich lady Gwyneth Paltrow $5 billion (yeah, I’m only six months old and I know math . . . whatevs) liquid-detox-cleanse grodiness. No, this stuff my mom was giving me was, like, full of totally rad nutrients, and it was, like, totally free. Yum.
But then, like, this morning? My mom starts cramming this orange goop up in my face. She tells me, all nice, that it’s called sweet potato. So, yeah, I tried to eat some, but then I was, like, gag me with a spoon! No, literally, I tried to gag myself with the spoon, but before I could jam that thing down there, my mom grabbed it out of my hand, and I’m, like, “Mom, I can totally feed myself, I’m six months old now.” But it came out sounding more like “Ba ga ga ga ba ga ba ma ma.” My mom totally didn’t get it.
Then she gives me this other mushy gunk, and she says they’re called apples, and that was a little better and I wanted more, but when I went to put more in my mouth, I put it in my eye instead, but, like, whatevs. And then, like, I’m just sitting there, and my mom crams this, like, mesh sock in my hand, and it’s all loaded up with these cold, purple circular things, and my mom says, “These are blueberries, baby.” And I put that sock in my mouth and suck on it, and YUM. Oh. My. God. Sooooo good. I could eat these all day.
And then Grandma comes over and she brings these, like, Gerber mashed up peas and carrots, and my mom is totally, like, “Um? Are these organic? Because if they’re not organic I don’t think they’re healthy for the baby.” And I’m all, whatever, mom, is that pile of black dog hair on the floor organic, because I just totally crammed it in my mouth when you weren’t looking.
And then she says, “And these plastic containers? I don’t think they’re BPA-free. We should only feed the baby out of glass jars,” and I’m, like, what about the floor? Who needs a plate when you’ve got, like, a totally delicious, dirt-seasoned floor to eat off? Like I just did when my blueberry sock fell down. Just pick it up, let the dust flavor it up all nice, and then pop! Back in the mouth.
Mom says next week we’re gonna try something new. Like organic puréed broccoli or something. Can we at least put some cheese on that? Uh, like, barf me out—no, like, literally, I’m projectile-vomiting right now, can someone get me, like, cleaned up? I have a hot date with a teething ring after this.