(S)Licked Up

Notice the cute little boys.
One with hair. One with . . . cheeks.
Ignore the glasses.

When I was expecting my second son, I craved anything 'tomato'. Pizza, spaghetti, anything I could put tomatoes in or on.

But especially tacos.

Mmmmm. Tacos.

There was only one problem. I couldn't get them hot enough.

I would buy the hottest salsa I could find.

Not enough.

Add a couple of drops of Tabasco.

Still not enough.

A few more drops. (I admit it. My spice world was limited to salsa and Tabasco.)

Almost there.

Seven drops.

Perfect.

And that's the way I ate them the entire nine months.

My baby boy was born without any hair on his head.

I think I burned it off.

This is relevant.

Moving on . . .

After the baby arrived, my husband took his little family out for fish and chips.

Mmmmm. More food.

I had our newest baby in a snuggly on my chest toasty and comfortable.

Just the top of his little, bald head peeking above the dark green corduroy of the carrier.

My dinner arrived. 

I looked at the loaded plate. Then at my baby.

I could take the carrier off and lay it on the table, I suppose.

But that would take effort.

And the food was there, waiting to be devoured.

Hunger decided.

I would just eat.

Over the baby. It was just like being pregnant again.

Sort of.

All went well.

The mushy peas went first. That was easy, I just held the bowl close and spooned.

Then the fresh, deep-fried, perfectly cooked fish.

Mmmm.

And finally, to top everything off, the thick, golden brown chips.

With ketchup.

Paradise.

Dip.

Munch.

Dip.

Munch.

And so it went.

Then . . .

Dip.

Splat.

Oops.

Right on the top of my baby's bald head.

What to do?

I could get a wipe and clean it off politely.

Pfff. One swipe of my tongue would take care of it much, much better.

Done.

I happily went back to eating my chips.

That's when I noticed the woman sitting at the next table. Looking at me. A frozen expression of horror on her face.

Clucking in disgust, she stood up and marched huffily from the restaurant.

I remember being a trifle embarrassed. And briefly uncomfortable.

Then I shrugged.

In the days before wipes, Mom used to clean entire faces with mom spit and a Kleenex.

It's all a matter of perspective.

Mine.