Supper at the Smiths

Mac is not a big boy, per se, but we are thankful he's such a voracious eater. I've come to realize that my son has the metabolism I've always wanted: he eats and eats and eats but it never shows up on his thighs.

That's only true in the figurative sense, though. Literally, everything Mac eats shows up on his thighs. And his face and his hands and his feet, even. I've taken to feeding him redneck-style, stripped down to his diaper. And he loves it!

In case any of you think I'm plum crazy (or just a bit trashy) for this new nightly ritual, I caught a bit of photographic evidence this evening that might sway you. If only you could see the delectable mix of drool and baby food that had slid down into his every little roll and crevice...

Are you planning to feed me or just take pictures??

After a particularly feisty session with his entree, sweet potatoes and chicken, Mac really let it fly with his "dessert," green beans. (Mmm, vegetables for dessert. You're so jealous.) The results required an immediate trip to his favorite spot in the house: his whale tub.

Even he was impressed at his mess-making achievement.

I don't plan on feeding Mac sans clothes forever; maybe once he's learned some table manners he can keep his john johns on at the table. 'Til then, though, we're supping redneck-style and loving it...

P.S. Happy, happy 32nd anniversary to my wonderful parents!! xoxo