Friday, June 15, 2012

We're deep into personality. My son has a personality. He had one from the start. Just hours after he was born, he let everyone her his voice, except for my in-laws. He was always sleeping when we visited them.
Pesticide treated lawn, Princeton, NJ, USA

That was then, this is personality. Foot stomping and protesting. Food preferences - leafy greens, blueberries, strawberries, chicken, cheese, fresh peas, until the cookies or chocolate appear. Clothing preferences - the aqua and white striped shirt with a yellow shark on the front. Car seat preferences - rather not. 

We're also deep into learning and listening. "That's not strawberry. That's different than what's in our garden. We eat the strawberries in our garden," I say. I watch my son brush his hands across the Indian strawberry foliage. He is a mirror image of me brushing my hands across our berry patch. He reveals a small red fruit, "Mmm."

"Not that one," I say.
Indian strawberry

I know Indian strawberries are edible, bland, but edible. I'd rather he not eat these fruits. They appear in herbicide treated lawns and other crummy places. I'd rather he not eat any red fruit, especially ones that resemble familiar red fruits. 

 Beholding the riches of the trail

No comments:

Post a Comment