'Food is fun, until one.' That's how the saying goes when it comes to weaning. My mother-in-law took this a bit too literally recently when she tried to feed Samuel chocolate cheesecake - we only narrowly managed to stop her.
But weaning really is fun. I love making purées for the little man with my own fair hands, knowing that they're all packed with good stuff. I love watching his face when he goes into food zombie mode and opens his mouth ready to gromph down his meals. I love watching him learn how to feed himself finger foods, feeling prouder and prouder each day as he gets a little bit better at finding his mouth and sogging whatever goes in it. Sometimes he even swallows some of it! And the way he grins, so pleased with himself, when he grabs the spoon at the business end and makes a monster mess? I think I love that the most.
But weaning makes me anxious too. I've read the Anabel Karmen and BLW books, and I still feel pretty clueless. The worries come thick and fast. What if he chokes? What should I do on the days when he just refuses to eat? When should he start to drop the milk feeds? Is he drinking enough water? Is he getting enough iron? How can I get out and about at lunchtime with him when lunch is such a spectacularly messy affair?
What's more, when it comes to being responsible for developing a child's healthy eating habits, I feel pretty under-qualified. After all, when I was in my twenties, my 'balanced diet' consisted of beans on toast, Frosties and white wine. I wouldn't have known a sweet potato if I'd have sat on one.