Pastafarian

Our friend Sandy, whose son Gavyn turned a year old two days before Livy did, told me yesterday that her pediatrician told her to feed Gavyn what she and her husband Mike eat.  Now that the arbitrary marker of one year is past, we can start feeding our babies all the delicacies forbidden during their babyhoods - peanut butter, cows' milk, eggs, strawberries, etc.  I took Sandy's report literally last night, and Livy and I sat down to a lovely meal of pasta and peas in an ad hoc turkey bolognese.  Delicious chaos ensued.

This is the face of gustatory bliss.

Olivia was methodical in her eating strategy:  pasta first, turkey second, peas third.  Aside from an emollient sheen of red sauce and olive oil coating its surface, that tray was licked clean by the end of the meal.

Notice how that smear of bolognese on her forehead is in the exact shape of baby fingers?  That's what happens when you stroke your forehead with delight as you eat pasta with your hands.  You've been warned.

The bath afterward was both necessary and lengthy.  Oil and water don't mix, so even after a good half hour of soaking and scrubbing Livy still smelled like a bad Italian restaurant.  So be it.  She had a good time.

There were far more than 11 herbs and spices left in the tub after I hosed her off...

... to say nothing of one huge, spicy meatball.