I would have hesitated to call it food, I’m not sure what I would have called it, but food would not have been my first choice. It had some vague meat flavor in it, chicken I hoped, but at least it didn’t make me gag like squash.
Momma gathered up the jars and left me to consider my first meal as a baby. I guessed I would grow used to it in time, but I couldn’t see that I would ever learn to enjoy it. I looked down at the ravages that dinner had caused. I was a mess; the entire front of the bib was covered with streaks of uneaten baby food. My hands were covered with a thin layer of food and if I looked cross-eyed at my nose, I could see blobs of orange and green dotting my face.
