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| 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.
