Tutti Frutti

Another floret of broccoli my love? Some mashed potato? What, another carrot? Baby giggles and a warm glow of pride as Iris bravely treads into the world of solid food fill my daydream.

A violent retch brings me back to the real world; thank goodness I opted for the plastic cover with my little girl's highchair.

Well this wasn't in the Government's guidelines - I waited until nearly 6 months, I breastfed, I bought Annabel Karmel and some overpriced gourmet ice-cube containers - my daughter however, is following her own set of rules, and unfortunately I can't quite make out what they are. Something about being a fruitarian and wanting to breastfeed forever.

So much for being a good cook - having been cajoled by hubby into a state of slightly smug complacency about my abilities in the kitchen, I was unprepared for the brutal honesty of a baby's unblemished palate.

Steamed vegetables, lovingly moulied - blaaaar, ick, sssppuggh - mixed with a little home-made fruit puree - eeeuuugghhh, retch. Desperation strikes; petit filou? sssplatt. Hipp Organic, Plum? Lick, lick, moment for thought - ssthhhwpp.

Iris has decided that Innocent smoothies are quite nice, yoghurt is ok, but vegetables and cereals are bad bad bad. Bibs make her cry and spoons have this strange effect of making her clench her mouth shut and adopt an owl-like turn of the head.

In my more tired moments, I do wonder whether Iris has inherited an 'am I fat?' gene from me, or has chewed one too many copies of Grazia in the bathroom and is aspiring early to the size zero phenomenon.

In my more sane moments however I am hoping that this is just the first 'phase' (of no doubt many) she will pass through on her way to healthy adulthood.

Right, just off to whisper 'food is good, food is good' to her while she sleeps....

Nappy chatter

Little did I realise the fascination that bowel movements would hold for me at this stage of my life.

Posh leather handbags, yes; manicures and pedicures, of course; the perennial appeal of Top Shop, oh yes, but poo?

This has particularly come to light in the last couple of weeks as my daughter has begun to discover the joys of her first fruit purees.

Iris' change in routine has now become a regular topic of conversation between my husband and me, particularly as we cuddle her writhing little self at night as her tummy tries to work out what on earth butternut squash is doing in amongst her regular tipple of breastmilk.

However I think I may have taken this mutual interest a step too far. Upon the arrival of a particularly challenging movement this morning, I felt compelled to share the news with hubby. Not fair, after all, for him to miss out through being at work!

Snapping off my marigolds, I rushed to the phone.

"Helloooo, it's me. So, the poo arrived! My god it was everywhere, I've had to strip the room and wipe down everything, you should have seen it..."

Keen not to miss out any details, I only noticed the silence on the other end once I'd finished.

"Er, are you still there? where are you?"

"Actually I'm just about to buy my lunch"

"Oh, sorry. Well, just don't go for any sticky looking dahl, ha ha. Oh...you have?"

Poor hubby - I forgot that life in my new mum bubble isn't always as scintillating to those in the real world as it is to me.

Thank goodness for the other new mums I'm about to meet up with - nothing like a good chat about bodily fluids over tea and a cupcake!