When considering what approach to take to solids, my goal was to give Scribble the best possible chance to become a happy, versatile eater. I know a lot of parents put their children on very healthful diets: no gluten, no refined sugars, no processed foods, etc.  And although we do try to avoid these foods, we did not choose to introduce solids the baby led weaning way for reasons of nutrition.

Scribble, enjoying Nana’s applesauce (mixed with yogurt) spread on sprouted wheat toast

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Instead, we BLW because I want Scribble to love food, cooking, and sharing family meals the way I do. I don’t want to be the parent who must prepare a separate meal for their baby while the rest of the family stuffs themselves at the Thanksgiving table. I don’t want my kid to be weirded out by textures, or who is unwilling to try strongly-flavored foods.  Most importantly, I don’t want him to be the kind of child that turns down food that is prepared for him because it is unfamiliar.

I lived in many places growing up, and learning the cuisines of these cultures was a way for me to incorporate those places into my history; now, certain foods carry emotional significance to me and eating them helps me to piece together my past. I still remember the first night we spent in Korea. We ate dinner in a woman’s home-turned-noodle-house; she had converted the front room into a sitting area. Every time I prepare dehydrated noodles, I think of her.  I remember the first time I ate a raw oyster, as a dare on my 22nd birthday. Even now, I get an adrenaline rush whenever I have one! I want Scribble to experience food in the same way.

Now our family lives in the deep South, where our social calendar revolves around food. And it isn’t always healthy. There’s a lot of butter (ok, often margarine), every vegetable is prepared with fatback, everything else fried in Crisco, and if it isn’t fried it is covered in cream-of-whatever-soup gravy or ketchup. It doesn’t approach organic, that’s for certain, but it is our cultural heritage. And although I am currently trying to purge our own pantry of the processed foods and empty carb bombs, I have a soft spot in my heart for these meals which have knit our family together: meatloaf, fried chicken, cornbread and beans, barbecued pork, mashed potatoes, chicken casserole.  I want my child to feel at home while eating a traditional southern meal, and I never want him to look down on the humble culinary practices that are his birthright.

I want my child to feel grateful for food that is prepared for and shared with him. I recall going to Japan as a sophomore in college. At the time I was a vegetarian, but my travel partner, whose family we were visiting, asked me not to turn down any food that was offered to me, even if it did contain meat, because to do so would be terribly rude. As someone with roots in the South–where manners are paramount–his suggestion resonated with me and I ate everything that was presented to me, including my first raw shrimp.

On Easter weekend, my Nana (Scribble’s great-grandmother) made Scribble a batch of applesauce. I didn’t care if the apples were organic, or if it was sweetened with manuka honey. I was just thankful that my son had the chance to eat his great-grandmother’s homemade applesauce, because to do so is a privilege.

It is really easy to become panicked by all of the new information we have about food, especially when we consider how best to introduce food to our children. Like many families, ours is trying to change the way we eat; we’re incorporating more organic, cutting out carbs, and buying local.  So far I am amazed at our progress! But there is something about living in a small town that affords me some needed perspective on the matter. It reminds me that I live in a community and that my ability to give and receive the hospitality of food says volumes about my spirit. I always want Scribble to receive food gifts with an open and grateful heart.