Tonight, Miles refused to go to bed, resorting to bellowing and thrashing about…all for want of mashed potatoes.
He got his first taste of them tonight, when I regretfully gave into the persistent gaze he directed at my dinner plate. In my hubris, I granted him but a tiny taste of the fluffy, white mass. Born in that moment was a hunger unbridled.
It took a lot of time, and a lot of breast milk, to finally lull Miles into a deep slumber. Maybe it was just the novelty of eating directly from our plates that turned him into such a fanatic. Suffice to say, we will be revisiting mashed potatoes with extreme caution in the future.
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 