I am very good friends with the carbohydrate. I always have been, but I’m particularly fond of her now during this breastfeeding lark.
She is steadfast, mixes with everyone and is always on hand when I need her.
Sometimes she’ll present in the form of a massive morning bowl of porridge, closely followed by homemade sourdough rye bread, (you can eat more if you make it yourself, that’s the rules) and smothered in peanut butter and boysenberry jam.
She’s usually a cake by mid morning, bread again at lunchtime – big doorstop sized slices filled with whatever I can find to fill her with.
Afternoons she often escapes me, but I search her out, travelling wherever I can find her – sometimes she’s hanging out with our friends the chips, other times she’s behind the tofu with the leftover fried rice, but usually I get her and my very best friend the cheese together and we while away the hours in contented bliss.
Trouble is, Miss Q is finally getting the hang of this solids gig. Before I know it, I won’t need to eat 19 meals a day and I’m going to have to tell Carb that we can’t hang out so much anymore. She’ll take it pretty hard I’m sure. After all, we’re practically inseparable at the moment.
Do you think she’ll understand if I tell her it’s not her, it’s me?