Earlier today, I had the joy of watching baby Oliver feed himself. He was working on mashed potatoes and some mashed, seasoned zucchini. Megan would load up his little rubber spoon or fork, and he’d do his best to get it into his mouth—though sometimes it hit his chin first. After five or ten minutes (not that time matters when you’re watching a baby eat), Megan gently stepped in to offer a bit of physical guidance, letting go of his hand just as the spoon got near his mouth. With that little boost from Mom, he started having more success.
Charlotte was sitting nearby, also eating her lunch (she has excellent utensil-to-mouth skills at nine years old) and shared that earlier in the week, Oliver had managed to get food in his eyes and ears. I commented that these little rubber utensils and the idea of babies self-feeding must be a relatively new thing. Jeremy chimed in to say they were actually around when Caleb and Charlotte were babies—but admitted they didn’t use them because the mess made him too anxious.
As Oliver wrapped up his (very messy) lunch, Jeremy said he might go take one of Pan’s anxiety pills. This made me laugh, because Jeremy truly is the best son-in-law we could have hoped for. He always comes across as calm and unshakable. We tend to think of him as our very own Superman—though it seems baby-led feeding may be his kryptonite.
Pan, for those who don’t know, is Megan’s rescue dog. He gets pretty anxious during storms and fireworks. We were in the middle of a thunderstorm this morning, so Megan had just given him one of his anxiety meds. Even with the pill, Pan was still pacing and panting, so she set him up in the garage with Sylvie, the other family dog. She didn't put Jeremy in the garage with the dogs—though I suspect he would’ve appreciated the quiet.
Speaking of the garage, the next phase of our garage upgrade is scheduled for the second week of August—a new heating system! Once it’s in, Joe will finally be able to use his machining equipment year-round without having to dress like he's heading to Antarctica. Machining with gloves isn’t easy (though he’s made do with handwarmers), and the combination of cold air and age doesn’t help when your nose won't stop running. We’re also planning to add more insulation to the attic in September, before the real cold sets in. By next winter, it should be cozy enough in there for Joe to work comfortably in a sweatshirt and bare hands. Honestly, the garage might end up with better climate control than the shop he worked in back in California.
Life continues on, full of broccoli, baby milestones, and garage dreams—and I feel blessed to be racking up these treasured moments of joy.
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