My baby was born to eat. We all were, really. It's a necessary part of life, a key to survival. With almost every gulp of milk or spoonful of vegetable puree, she makes small, grateful "mmm" sounds, as if to say "Thanks. This is just what I needed, and it's good stuff."Now that she's sampling vegetables and fruits herself, without me as the processing middleman, she opens her mouth wide, showing her brand-new serrated teeth and eagerly awaiting the spoon delivery of her fruit and veggie mash. She loves each bite -- but somehow, she knows when to stop. She knows when enough is enough, and she trusts that when she gets hungry again, her daddy or I will be there to fill her up again. She has no need to stock up -- no matter how sweet those pears are, or how creamy the carrots -- she trusts that we will provide, and stops when she is full.
How do we lose this sense of "enough," this trust of the hands that feed us?
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