The other night, I cooked some star-shaped pasta for Alice to try.
And I thought, while she was at it, maybe she could try out feeding herself too.
An ambitious thing to ask. The pasta is very tiny, very slippery.
And her pincer grasp is awfully new.
But Alice has an impressive attention span for this sort of thing. She really works at it.
This morning, her dad made us breakfast. She sat with us at the table. Pink, footy pajamas still zipped up to her neck. Legs dangling off the high chair. Trying to pick baby bites of pancake from off her own paper plate. It was like nothing so much as one of those arcade games with the mechanical claw. You are surprised when it hits its mark at all, and then – hold your breath, hold your breath – will it drop the toy down the chute?
Almost never. But she works at it. That’s the thing.
(And I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me a little sad to see her holding her own bottle. All by herself.)