Lydia Log - Food Critic, Sleeper, Lover Of Quirky Indie Movie Soundtracks

At the ripe old age of 15 months, Miss Lydia is starting to refine her tastes. She is no longer just happy to be eating anything, and lots of it. Her palette seems to refine itself daily - and has become something of a moving target. Leftovers? No way. Baby cereal? Puh-leeease. She wants what you're having, preferably from your plate, and objects very vocally to having you feed it to her - opting to eat (for example) soup by the fistful, or to make wild stabs at her meal with whatever utensil happens to be in her hand. Speaking of which, her dexterity has improved to the point where today I was videotaping her shovel Cheerios into her mouth with a spoon (a minute or so of footage that, in all likelihood, we will question the significance of in a few weeks). Non-parents - trust me, this is pretty big...

As far as her continued refinement of tastes go - Wes Anderson soundtracks are getting a lot of play in our kitchen these days, to rave reviews from Little Miss, who proceeds to grab a stuffed toy and waltz in circles until she gets dizzy and falls over. Alternatively, she runs to Terri or me and motions to be picked up and danced with, mouth agape in a huge gap-toothed grin. Cat Stevens, The Kinks, John Lennon, that guys who sings "Where Do You Go To, My Lovely" - all A-1 in Lydia's books. On the other side of the coin, also A-1 in Lydia's books: a three-CD set of childrens songs warbled by some ungodly kids choir. 150 songs... all in the same key... with the same instrumentation... with the same lagging tempo... It. Is. Terrible. My eye starts to twitch just thinking about it. Whatever crappy pre-teen band she digs in 2019 will sound positively awesome in comparison (oh, so that's how this works)...

And then there is the sleeping - the wonderful, wonderful sleeping: 12-13 hours of uninterrupted sleep each night, providing us the opportunity to clean up, relax, get ready for the next day, and then get up and get ready for work in the morning. All before she so much as stirs. I'm going to take credit for this one right now - love of sleep is hereditary, no? I will also take credit for jinxing this good thing when it comes to an end, hopefully not soon...