On our many cafe tours on weekends, LC and Rannveig deal with the issue of baby food. Having a very long memory myself, I'm inclined to sympathise with LC. I can clearly remember being stuck in my high chair, watching the family tucking into T-bone steaks whilst the soggy creamed spinach was wheeled out for me and passed off as cordon bleu. I might not have had brain enough to have had command over my bowels or bladder at that stage, but I could smell a con like that a pre-metric mile away.
Fortunately, LC seems to not mind her tucker and it has come a long way from some of the goop I have shivery memories of.
Speaking of matters relating to eating, she seems to have some more teeth on the grow and is taking great delight in torturing her mother with her existing pair of rat like lower incisors. Love hurts.
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