We have an issue. Like so many issues between males and females, it's a body issue. Specifically, it's about boobs. In this case, it's not about whether they are too small, or too big, or round or pointy or droopy or... well it's not about that. And, while this issue is definitely subjective, the opinion in question is not that of my husband and this is not an issue between us, or an issue of attraction or anything related to the human sexual game. No, as you have no doubt guessed, this is a Mother-Baby boob issue.
I visited a friend yesterday whose baby is nearly the same age as Charlie and her baby also has a boob issue, however the two are polar opposites. While her baby has take boobs off the menu on what appears to be a permanent basis, Charlie has decided that while rice, pear, squash and carrot are lovely, actually he's made his decision thank you and he's not interested, in fact he's going to go back to the boob full time and that's that.
What this means is that our hungry baby who was eager to eat everything on the spoon is now clenching his jaw with it's two little teeth so that nothing plastic can get in and, eventually, screaming until he's removed from his high-chair at which point he shuts up and beams like the sun has come out. The worse thing is that this non-boob ban is extended to bottles and so every feeding time where I am not there or where he has already had both boobs and is still hungry (he is, after all, nearly 7 months old and can hold rather a lot) there is a situation involving screaming and more jaw clenching and, more distressingly, we are heading slowly back to non-solid nappies.
Now. Part of this is making me feel very special indeed - and that way, madness lies. It's tempting, I admit, in some ancient, primeval part of my Motherly-love brain, very tempting indeed to think that all my baby needs is me, that I can solve his problems, that I can make him feel good and that I can make him sleep and... well, all sorts of related thoughts that would mean that Charlie is forever tied to my apron strings and that I would never have a life of my own or be able to have a drink or wear normal bras or go out without him until eventually child-services stepped in to suggest that perhaps he should be bringing something else to school for lunch... So, this has got to be nipped in the bud. So to speak.
Clearly we just have to keep on as we are with the spoons and the jaw-clenching and hope that eventually Charlie forgets about this moment of madness, however, for an infant he has an elephantine memory and it may take a few weeks. In the meantime my baby and I are keeping our issues... er... close to the chest.