I've picked on Baby Led Weaning plenty - and it deserves to be picked on, because it never delivered on its promise of teaching a kid how to eat all kinds of fun and exciting adult foods, such as anything that isn't cheese or pasta related - and while I still spend WAY too much time cleaning up all kinds of squishy, crunchy, smeary food off the dining room floor after every meal, there is one thing that it has taught Edie to do. And it's something that I value quite a bit.
That woman can eat some heat.
Finn has never been fond of hot foods - neither caliente or picante. He will immediately spit out anything that is even approaching hot in temperature, even if it hasn't actually touched his tongue, based purely on an offhand mention that it might be hot or the presence of a single wisp of steam. He's slightly better with spicy, making a single concession to my love of spicy foods by sharing 1, maybe 2, but no more than 3 Jalapeño potato chips with me. Anything more than that will result in cries of "too spicy!" and maybe some tears.
I'll bet Edie could drink Finn's tears if I were to boil them for 30 minutes. I'm not sure she has any temperature receptors in her mouth at all. Where Finn would cringe, Edie looks me dead-in-the-eye and matter of factly shovels more scorching hot food into her open cry-hole, while mentioning in a slightly bored fashion, "hot."
Not having to spend 15 minutes blowing on each bite of luke warm pasta is nice, but I've been leery about really unleashing the spicy on her. This hesitation is apparently unwarranted.
While the family was on a beautiful fall excursion a couple of weekends ago at one of Seattle's prettier parks, Kubota Garden, we took a moment to check out a koi pond in which a turtle was sunning himself. It was a great view, so I let go of Edie's hand for a second so I could snap off a couple of pictures. I turned around to call her to come up to the pond for a look and that's when another idyllic sight struck me: Edie with a dirty, half-empty Taco Bell hot sauce packet hanging out of her mouth.
As I screamed, dropping my camera and rushing over to wipe the disgusting red goo off of her face, her hands and her shirt, she just stood there, looking calmly at me, as if to say:
"Who's the baby now, old man?"