I did not feed my children anything sugary until they were 2. I figured, why give it to them when they don’t even know what they’re missing? Besides, no candy for them meant more for me. 🙂
Anyway, for Kevin’s first Christmas (he was 11 months old), his sister (7) wanted to decorate our tree with a candy-cane motif. So we hung candy canes, strung homemade peppermint garland, wove in red & white striped ribbon, and adorned the very top with our traditional Santa hat. It was super cute!
Now, because we were “family bed” people, Kevin didn’t have a nursery. For that matter, he didn’t even have a crib to confine him. He was, what I call, a “wandering baby”. You just never knew where he was going to be when you woke up.
One morning during the holiday season (pretty sure it was “7 Swans a Swimming” day), I woke to odd noises emanating from the living room. Remember that sound your great uncle made when he was trying to suck a piece of pork chop out from between his front teeth? Yeah, same sound.
A quick investigation revealed those wet, slurpy noises to be my barely-steady-on-his-feet baby boy, standing as high on tiptoes as footie pajamas would allow. His neck outstretched like a Serengeti giraffe as he nursed the end of a no-longer-decorative candy cane.
He had bitten off the plastic wrap, then sucked the peppermint to a dangerously sharp point. The slurps and groans grew increasingly louder as he neared the end of his height range in relation to the dwindling stick of candy.
He pivoted quickly when I asked, “Kevie…whatcha doing?”
Verbal communication was not exactly his strong point, but the cuteness factor told me everything I needed to know. He broke out in a 6-toothed grin, pointed at the candy stripes and enthusiastically implied, “Dearest mother, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your generous and abundant breastmilk, but woman…you’ve been holding out on me!”