The hunger striker

And so endeth a very long two weeks. Both Alice and I have had colds, jetlag and one of us has been on hunger strike. Those who know me well and in fact, those who have seen me even once, will surmise correctly that it wasn't me.

In a latter day bid for the baby suffragette movement, Alice is asserting the right for little people everywhere not necessarily to eat orange mush if it is placed in front of them. Or green mush. Or any other colour of mush into which you may pour blood, sweat, tears and the precious few minutes you have while they are sleeping when you could otherwise be watching Oprah.

It started just before we left the US and the situation deteriorated on the plane when the stewardess luke-warmed a tin of something or other and Alice refused to have anything to do with it. Since then, mealtimes have been battlegrounds and I have had to resort to ever more desperate measures to get her to eat. Tantrums, food and money (at a new bells and whistles high chair) have been thrown but to little avail.

Some of the things which have worked have been:
1. Eating out at Clodeli while watching Little Friend Charlie throw banana cake about the place
2. Sitting in new high chair
3. Sitting in bumbo in front of Baby Beethoven DVD
4. Sitting on my lap
5. Me singing and dancing around the kitchen in between her mouthfuls
6. Sitting in front of open window watching the birdies and hoping the neighbours don't mistake me for Michael Jackson
7. Sitting on my hip while I sing "Hey, hey it's Baby Alice" to the tune of "Hey, hey it's the Monkeys"

Some of the tings which have not worked when tried for a second time have been:
1. Sitting in new high chair
2. Sitting in bumbo in front of Baby Beethoven DVD
3. Sitting on my lap
4. Me singing and dancing around the kitchen in between her mouthfuls
5. Sitting in front of open window etc etc
6. Sitting on my hip while I sing "Hey, hey it's Baby Alice" to the tune of "Hey, hey it's the Monkeys"

So the only reliable method has been a lunchtime trip to Clodeli - a local poncy caff where Lote Tuqiri takes his morning latte (extra froth with sprinkles). Lots to see there, to keep her entertained, whether Little Friend Charlie is there or not. Followed by a sprint down the hill to get home before she falls asleep.

Funnily enough, her father was apparently a very fussy eater as a child (to the extent that Grannie Al recently asked me if he now ate pasta and was surprised at an affirmative). However, I don't think that Alice is being picky - she will screw up her face at the sight of a spoon without even trying it. Last week she seemed to want to feed herself. This week not. How one of my many friend Kates must now laugh (as Little Friend Charlie throws his risotto at her) - I remember telling her that Alice was going to be a great eater. I had decided as much. Breakfasts seem to go well - we eat our porridge together at the table and very little singing is needed. However, like all these baby phases, this too will pass (I remember the fortnight where she wouldn't sit in her pram was a very long two weeks too). Nanna Keefe's smuggled Farleys rusks are going down a storm, so at least I know that she is getting some sustenance.

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Next week, we ask..is Annabel Karmel sponsored by the leek industry?
And if not, why am I single handed propping up the Welsh economy in following her recipes...