Miss Izabella has eaten her first fruit, her first food, banana. She loved it. I wanted to exclusively breast-feed for the first six months and we made it to that goal. She turned six months here in Transylvania not long ago. I had intended to wait until we return to the States to start solids to avoid the chance of her developing rashes, constipation, etc. while traveling. But she was ready. She watched us eat with eager eyes and started to smack her lips.
I had debated which food to give her first for quite some time. Many people start with rice cereal, often mixed with breast milk or formula. But it didn't make sense to me to start with a boxed food when you can just as easily give a fresh fruit or vegetable. Why not start with fresh, real food? I also debated the symbolism. (I know, ridiculous.) We are in Transylvania; why not start with a local food such as a potato or a summer apple? In the end, I went with the banana. Not local, but arguably universal in these modern times. No cooking. I simple mashed a chunk with a fork. No baby spoon? No problem. I just used my finger. The second day I used a coffee spoon (metal, not recommended because it might bash into her sensitive teething gums). Yes. She loved it. She told me "no more" by turning her head. Good girl, she already knows how to say no. An important skill.
Another first: first blood. This morning I held her in my arms and we gazed into a mirror. I admit I indulged in some self-narrative praise for my beautiful little person. She tentatively reached out and stroked the glass, meeting her mirror image and trying to grasp her own hand. I lovingly gazed at her play. Then I noticed that she was streaking the mirror and I thought, "how sweet that she is making her first mess." Then I realized it was blood. She didn't complain at all despite the fact that her index finger was now a fountain of sweet strawberry blood. What? Yes, the mirror has been there for at least the 10 years that I have been a visitor here. Yes, it has been cracked down the middle for all those years. Countless times I have pondered how we would definitely not live with a cracked mirror in the States--bad omens coupled with potential safety issues. I guess I had grown immune to its dangers. I gazed adoringly on as I allowed my baby girl to gouge out the end of her index finger. Let's just hope she is left-handed.
Really, she never cried. Either it was not painful or she is ready to play the part of The Cheerleader on the television series Heroes (who miraculously recovers from all injury). But try to apply pressure to a six-month-old's index finger. Good luck. And I had dressed her this morning in a pristine white onesie, freshly ironed as all clothes are at grandma's. A bit of blood on her onesie will go well with her lunch this afternoon, grey mashed banana. I am going to have to learn the art of stain removal soon.