For breakfast this morning you had six ounces of oatmeal and fruit puree and four squares of waffle. You had a few bites of strawberry, and then you were done eating. Anything else was swept onto the floor for the dog to finish.

I tried to get you to eat a puff, or a bite of daddy’s peanut butter and honey toast, or a few other things, but you were done. You handed the puff back to me with your cute little smile.

So I took you out of your highchair and put you down.

You crawled across the kitchen with startling speed and picked up a tiny little thing from the floor. You had nearly put it in your mouth when I got to you.

A pebble.

A tiny rock.

You won’t eat a half dozen foods I put on your tray, but you hardly hesitated to try to eat a rock.

I wish I could think of some clever thing to add, but I’m still at a loss for words.

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