Custard facepack

The promised BLW post. That's baby-led weaning. No purees, no spoonfeeding, no open-wide-here-comes-the-aeroplane games. Just real food and a baby left to get on with it if they want to.

Over the past few months he has: dipped a duck leg bone into rice pudding; given himself a banana custard facepack; tasted an olive, spat it out, then decided to try another one; rejected Babybels in favour of mature cheddar or Parmesan; dropped salmon down mummy's bra because he was in the sling while she cooked and he wanted the food NOW; eaten raisins that he has hidden under shelves, chairs or kitchen units for goodness knows how long; refused to eat yummy homemade veg burgers; eaten his own body weight in pasta; munched on a red pepper while going round Tesco; and decided that houmous is the best foodstuff in the world.

And I have: learnt not to worry about whether he eats something or how much he has had; learnt to leave him to get on with it; cleaned up hundreds of messy highchair trays and food-splattered floors; come up with a variety of face-washing games to lessen the trauma; got used to eating with him at 5pm; marvelled at him devouring pasta; sighed at him not eating yummy veg burgers; rediscovered houmous; learnt how to peel potatoes with a baby on one hip; pondered the mysteries of child psychology.

I haven't the faintest idea why anyone would turn good food into mush and muck about spooning it into a reluctant child's mouth. But then I have a little fella who really wouldn't have played along with the aeroplane game. He is very stubborn/spirited/bloody-minded (delete according to child-rearing style).