While he waited for her to heat his food, he drew circles in the high chair tray with the index finger of his right hand as she stepped behind the high chair to fasten a kitchen towel around his neck for a feeding bib.
Thomas looked down at the terry-cloth bib that covered the protuberant belly of babyhood he had acquired during the night with embarrassment. She went to the stove and poured his breakfast from the pot that sat on the nearest burner and returned with a old fashioned silver feeding spoon and a bowl of food. His mother pulled a chair close to the high chair and sat down. Holding the bowl, she ladled a spoonful out of the ceramic bowl and began to slowly feed him. “You’ll like this, it’s oatmeal mixed with banana. It was your favorite when you were a baby. Mmmmm. Now open wide. Here comes the airplane. Now open the hanger door, Baby!”
