The Dreaded Spoon

On Thursday, Lucia’s five-month birthday, Andrew and I attempted to introduce Lucia to rice cereal. It did not go well. As I mixed a half-tablespoon of the cereal with some warm breastmilk, I nearly gagged; it looked disgusting, like thin, watery gruel. I certainly wouldn’t want to eat it—I don’t even like oatmeal—but we sat Lucia in her Bumbo chair on the table, clasped a little bib around her neck, and feigned enthusiasm as I aimed an infant spoon at her mouth.

The look on her face as I tilted a tipful of cereal onto her lips was one of, first, surprise, then revulsion, and then horror. With a pained look, she pushed the food out of her mouth. We tried a couple more spoonfuls, with the same result. Then she began to scream and attempted to writhe out of her chair. A hysterical baby was the result of our first solid-food experiment.

We’ve fared no better now that we’re four days into it. I don’t think it’s the taste—after she gets upset I’ve been putting the cereal into a bottle, and she eats it without a fuss; I think it’s the spoon. Or maybe it’s a combination of the taste and the spoon, and the bottle just makes it more palatable. Who knows.

So far, Lucia has consumed, in total, less than two tablespoons of rice cereal over four days. We’re taking it slow. Very slow.