You’ve all heard the word ‘hangry’ before, haven’t you? It’s a mixture of hungry and angry, and describes what happens when someone gets hungry, doesn’t get fed, and then gets very angry about not being fed. My husband is a sufferer – we have bags of nuts, fruit, crisps etc stashed around the house and car in order to tide him over and keep him from going all Incredible Hulk on us if we’re 10 minutes late getting to lunch.
Unfortunately, the baby has inherited this trait. One minute she’s fine, placid, smiling even. The next, she’s red-faced, squealing, writhing around like a thing possessed. Hangry.
Yesterday, I was feeling all virtuous as I chopped up sweet potatoes for her dinner. I was going to do wedges as she’s at that stage of weaning where she likes to hold food in her hand and gnaw at it. This is as far as I got…
They got chopped up, they got parboiled. For about a minute. Then all hell broke loose in the highchair. Littler B realised she was in the highchair but was not being fed. I tried to distract her with some banana. It didn’t work. After a few minutes of the squealing, shouting and gnashing of tiny teeth, I resorted to the old favourite:
Dehydrated mush, with some pureed mush.
And you know what? She loved it.
The sweet potato wedges made it on to her big sister’s plate a half hour later, nestled between some fish fingers and some peas. She didn’t eat any of them either. Annabel Karmel I am not…