I've typed up some of Bert's food diary.  Basically, I let him eat as much or as little as he wants and don't force him to eat anything he doesn't like.  He is not a picky eater at all and he usually eats a ton.  On top of this, I give him diluted apple juice and breastfeed him 2-3 times a day.  I like to try to give him a protein, a grain, and fruit or veg at every meal.  Certain grains like millet, buckwheat, and quinoa, are actually seeds, so they have a lot of protein & amino acids in them already.
Have a butcher's:

9 May
parsley-hummous
2 wild garlic pancakes, blackberry pancake
tofu
broccoli-buckwheat
banana
tropical porridge
1-1/2 rich tea biscuits (my husband Mark likes to share biscuits with him -- it is probably the only "naughty" food I let him have)

10 May
avocado, shallot, and nutritional yeast flakes sandwich on w/w bread
broccoli-buckwheat
1/2 digestive biscuit
1/2 small potato
banana
rye bread
a few spoonfuls of my organic puffed brown rice (cereal) and soymilk

11 May
tropical porridge
banana
beetroot-potato-tofu-shallot salad (w/ flaxseed oil)
1/2 digestive biscuit
rice

12 May
banana
miso soup w/ rice
rice w/ tomato sauce
toasted rye w/ margarine (I use Sunflower Pure -- it's not hydrogenated) and treacle
nibble of malt loaf
spicy garbanzos (chick peas) w/ onion, wild garlic greens, carrot, & w/w couscous
1-1/2 digestive biscuits
rye bread

13 May
1-1/2 bananas
wild garlic & walnut pesto w/ nutritional yeast flakes on rye
cucumber with a dab of olive oil
broccoli hot pot
toasted rye w/ marg and treacle
a wee bit more broccoli hot pot w/ tomato sauce
a few spoonfuls of my organic puffed brown rice (cereal) and soymilk
1/2 digestive biscuit
oatmeal & raisins

14 May
kiwi fruit
banana
w/w (whole wheat) couscous & tomato sauce
broccoli hot pot
soy yoghurt
w/w pasta w/ spinach, shallot, garlic, olive oil, and wild garlic & walnut pesto

16 May
1-1/2 bananas
(a TON of) tropical porridge and flaxseed oil
(a TON of) spicy rice, curried dahl (red lentils) with tomatoes, onion, and olive oil
digestive biscuit

24 May
banana
rice & tomato dahl cury
sweet potato
potato-pea-pesto mash

26 May
pea-potato mash
tofu (Bert is wild about tofu, so I give cubes of it to him as a snack)
rye bread w/ marg and treacle
broccoli-tomato rice
apricot-peach-apple sauce
soya yoghurt

27 May
rye bread w/ marg
broccoli-tomato rice
tofu and brussel sprouts
baked beans
pear

28 May
oatmeal-w/w bread
banana
tofu
curried potatoes
miso soup w/ rice and wakame seaweed
spicy okra in tomato sauce
pear
oatcake

29 May
banana
mini whole wheat date scone (I made healthy scones for his birthday)
tofu
oatmeal-w/w bread
spice soup (chili, tomato, onion, carrot, celery, courgette -- more of a thick stew, really)
rice

30 May (his first birthday)
pear
banana
blueberries & soya yoghurt
2 mini w/w scones
spice soup and rice
tofu
gazpacho soup (thick -- like the way they do it in Seville) with w/w bread

31 May
mini w/w scone
2 bananas
blueberries
gazpacho soup with w/w bread
w/w toast & all-fruit raspberry jam (unsweetened/no sugar or sweeteners)
tofu

1 June
mini w/w scone
tofu
banana
avocado hummous (mmm!)
gazpacho soup & w/w bread
cucumber
smoothie (banana-blueberry-tofu-soya yoghurt)
pear
small potato

2 June
avocado hummous on w/w bread
2 wee potatoes
1-1/2 bananas
more avocado hummous
stewed okra & tomatoes
apricot-peach-apple sauce
organic brown puffed rice & a dab of soya milk

3 June
avocado hummous & nutritional yeast flakes on w/w bread
banana
borscht veggies (beet carrot, celery, onion) w/ olive oil, dill, and black pepper
organic brown puffed rice & soya milk
rice & tomato sauce
pear

5 June
avocado hummous on w/w bread
banana
beet & potato salad (w/ cider vinegar, olive oil, and ground coriander)  <--this is a northern African recipe I recently discovered
broccoli-rice with a smidge of tomato sauce
tofu

7 June
quinoa with tomatoes, carrot, mushroom, celery, cabbage, and onion
w/w toast with all-fruit jam
w/w toast with marg and marmite
sweet potato
banana
garlic-ginger-chili millet with shallots and cilantro (fresh coriander)
roasted beets with olive oil, lemon, shallot, rosemary, garlic, and black pepper
tofu
digestive biscuit

10 June
w/w toast with all-fruit jam
w/w toast with marg and marmite
banana
tofu
broccoli-rice with a dab of tomato sauce
smoothie (banana, soya yoghurt, kiwi, mixed frozen berries)
digestive biscuit

11 June
w/w toast with all-fruit jam
w/w toast with marg and marmite
banana
tofu
broccoli-rice with a dab of curried dahl
Aloo Bhajia (curried fried potatoes)
smoothie (banana, soya yoghurt, kiwi, mixed frozen berries)

My mom sent me what I like to call a "child-neglect" chair. It has dangly things, wiggly things, flashing lights, music, and a vibrator. And a seat belt. It can hold Bert's attention for at least 10 minutes if he's in a good mood. If he's in a bad mood, he just cries while it vibrates and plays happy music. it was vibrating when I opened the box, I think the contents shifted during shipping and flipped the switch. I wonder what customs thought..
I was on the phone with my dad when she was packing the box. Instead of using bubble-wrap or packing peanuts, she likes to just stuff boxes to full capacity. She used to stuff them with junk mail and odd useless things like juice bottle caps, but now that I have Bert, she stuffs them with thinks she thinks I might actually need. "George! Ask her if she wants any of Chantel's old underwear and socks! There's a whole drawer full! Bras? Does she want any of Chani's old bras? No? Are you sure?"
Instead, she sent me a black cardigan and a red shirt that has that cat head you see on redneck car bumpers and on stickers in those sticker vending machines at the grocery store. It's made of that material that changes the picture depending on the angle you look at it, so the cat winks at you while its collar sparkles. The black cardigan is okay, but unless i want to pick off the cat head and turn the shirt into an original-series Star Trek uniform-shirt, it's not much use..

Just so you don't think I'm biased against Mark's mom, Warty, here's an entry about my parents' visit.

My parents arrived early in the morning and took a taxi from the airport to the hotel down the street from our house. My dad phoned saying they were in the lounge having coffee so Bert & Mark & I walked over. My dad has a special power with babies and Bert LOVED him.

My dad: Hello, Bert, nice to meet you. How you doin'?
Bert: LOLOLOLOL!
My dad: How you doin'?
Bert: HAHA!
My dad: HOWYOUDOIN'?
Bert: Hee hee!
My dad: How YOU doin'?
Bert: ROFL!
...and so on. I have NEVER heard Bert laugh like that before. I'm not even sure I heard him laugh before! It's great -- he laughs all the time now. I had him laughing for ages this afternoon.

My mom: Hey, let's go up to the room. George, you can get me an overpriced wine from that 'honour-system' wine bar downstairs -- it's after 5pm somewhere.
(It is 11am.)
Me: Mom, it's early, surely you don't need to drink this early!
My mom: I'm on vacation.

[Sidenote: "I'm on vacation" is what a few people who have come to visit have used as an excuse to be a drunk asshole. If coming to visit me is "vacation" and necessitates a lot of drinking, you are actually a sad sad drunkard, not a fun person who "usually doesn't drink this much."]

So for most of the time, things were okay, but my mom is a mean drunk and she did a few things that annoyed me. Bert is in the middle of a growth spurt and has been nursing a lot (until today, actually). Among other things, my mom said he needs a wet nurse, a pacifier (aka dummy), and should start on baby rice in a couple weeks (when he is 3 months old) because it will fill him up.

Nothing against pacifier users, but I'm not using one for my kid. My mom is SO MAD about that. She got all drunk one night and said I should be using one instead of "giving my baby drugs." I give Bert anti-colic drops that have done wonders for his gas -- he was having trouble sleeping it was so bad and a health visitor recommended it. Mean while, my mom is a pill-popping drunk.
Speaking of pills, my parents take these pills that stop you from digesting fat and you just poop it all out. Sounds good, except apparently, you also get wet oily farts that are hard to manage. I'd rather be fat than constantly be afraid of pooping in my pants, thanks! ;D
Back to the pacifier/dummy issue: I'm in Edinburgh after a particularly rough afternoon. Bert was screaming and crying and I was trying to adjust the ring-sling I had him in to nurse him and he kept making himself all stiff and almost falling out and I'm trying to stop him from falling onto the concrete and not expose my boob to the people of Edinburgh while he is screeching and she shouted, "this is why you need a fucking pacifier!!!" it was the last straw in a day full of drunk baiting (among about a dozen other things, she kept trying to get me to feed him a "french fry"). I said "fuck you!" [not the wittiest comeback, but hey, I was MAD] and told her to stop telling me how to raise my damn baby and a pacifier is a really stupid thing to give a really hungry baby. And then probably everybody got a glimpse of my boob and Bert stopped crying.
(She sent my dad over to my flat the next day to apologise for her. That's a first.)

Later that evening, she was all drunk in a Tesco Metro and I heard her say, "why don't they have cheese popcorn here? This country SUCKS!!"

Other random quotes:

"Barack Obama is totally a Muslim and is going to turn the US into a Muslim state. I know this because my dentist told me."

"Do you have any birth control? Even though I'm 54 and haven't had my period in a year, I think I'm ovulating and I don't want to get pregnant. . . .No, not condoms, like foam or something. . . .You're allergic to foam? Good, let me have yours!" (As if I would have foam, even though I was allergic to it -- peeing after putting in foam hurts as badly as pushing out a baby!)

"I love your friend Cristina and she is your first normal friend, but she totally had a nose job. Italians -- even half-Italians don't have noses like that. I mean, they did a good good job, you totally can't tell." (She totally didn't have one.)

"You don't hunch over now that you have Bert. You're WAY less of a hunchback."

"I don't want to bring that record player back to your sister, that record player is STUPID!"

"I'm so proud of your boobs -- I mean, because you're breastfeeding!"

"You can't use a girdle! Your muscles will learn to depend on it and stop working!"

"I need to use the toilet now!! You know, my fat-pills!!" *later* "Nevermind. It's too late. Just don't walk behind me, okay?"

There were a lot of other mean comments and annoying things, too (for instance, if you burp, stutter, or mispronounce anything, she will call you on it at the top of her lungs; also, she had this really creepy way of rocking Bert; also, she babysits for these kids and I learned she picks at the baby's cradle cap and smoked around her -- even if it was outside -- and said she called the cigarettes fagarillos, in case the girl started talking one day and mentioned them to her mom; also, I lost a few fake gems from a fake gem brooch and she was all, "oh, that's a pity," but it turns out she was talking about a painting of a massacre behind me and when she realised I thought she was being sympathetic, she was all, "OH BOO FUCKING HOO, THERE'S A PAINTING OF A MASSACRE AND DEAD BLOODY BODIES, AND YOU THINK I'M SORRY YOU LOST A FAKE JEWEL FROM YOUR TACKY FAKE PIN?!?!!!!!! OH, GIVE ME A FUCK-ING BREAK!!! JESUS CHRIST, HOW SELF-CENTERED ARE YOU?!").

Also, this is hilarious, she was SOBBING at the bus station the day they left (that's not the funny part) and she said, "I'd be crying even if I weren't drunk!" and "There's this syndrome old people have -- unless they're Jewish -- where they get so sad THEY DIE!"

Visit my Crabby Crafter blog to see the results and long-winded explanations!

Again, witness the native Belly Baby's ability to blend seamlessly into any background.

My good buddy Skamama had a fun contest over at her blog where she posted 10 things about her, 9 of which were true. I'm going to do the same thing. Your job, dear readers, is to put down your bottle of Blue Nun, mosey on over to my Crabby Crafter Blog, and try to figure out which statement is a falsehood.

Every morning, Bert and I get up and watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. Right around the time each episode is at it's exciting climax, Bert starts being all cute and smiley and I end up missing the end of the show.

Ignore my goofy voice, I get excited when he smiles and he smiles more when I talk in a goofy voice. Just pretend I still sound cynical and crabby.

Poor Belly Baby has been crying up a storm for the past week. Unless I am holding him or have him in a sling, he screams like a bansidhe! He will lie down and sleep next to us at night, if I can get him to fall asleep, but he doesn't sleep for long.
I *think* the poor kid is gassy (either that or the trip to Stinky & Warty's traumatised him). Well, he IS gassy, but I think that's mostly what the problem is. He starts to fall asleep and then I hear him grunt and do wet poo farts or scream and fart. It's kind of funny because for a few moments after the farts and poo farts he is all content and starts to fall asleep, but sad, too, because I hate to see little bumpkins unhappy.

Tried to put him in the sling, but he gets all stiff as a board and I can't get him in it (he is a long and skinny baby, so I need to have his feet sticking out the back) because he won't bend at the waist, so I have to put him in the wrap or this funky front carrier from my mom from the 70s. In the carriers, he is fine and will go to sleep after some jiggling or rocking.

I am still about 18-20 pounds heavier than when I got knocked up, but I can squeeze myself into a couple pairs of jeans now. All that carrying and rocking belly baby is paying off bod-wise. I really just want to get rid of the pot-belly. Festively plump thighs and buttocks are fine with me (although I will need new jeans) -- with them and my milk-laden rack, I could be quite curvy if I actually had a waist!

Breastfeeding is going really well. I enjoy it a lot, actually. Also, I make enough milk to feed a small country. I could put out fires with my boobs. No, REALLY. Too bad there isn't a breast milk donation bank around here like there was in Glasgow. There might be one between here and Glasgow, but the return bus fare to Helensburgh alone is over a fiver and takes nearly 2 hours. But seriously, I could fight fires. My sister suggested I squirt Warty in the eye with milk next time I see her.

I moisturised my belly like a maniac when I was up the duff and didn't get stretch marks. I didn't think to moisturise my boobs (I've been busy with the baby, you know) and have wee stretch marks. Well, I did go from a 32A- to a 34D+ (when I haven't fed Belly Baby in a while). They get HUGELY comically full if I manage to sleep for more than 3 hours straight. We're talkin' cantaloupes. The stretch marks don't bother me like ones on my stomach would. I mean, my boobs aren't on public display, but people do see my stomach sometimes. Plus, I had small ones when I went through puberty and you wouldn't notice them at all now, unlike the monsters on my hips!

Anyway, Belly Baby is asleep in my front carrier and I'm going to take a nap and do some knitting. I asked our old roommate Eddie (he's like a brother to me), who just got married and is teaching at University in Korea, if he'd get me a baby carrier and he said not to send him any money for it because he wanted to get me a baby present. Nice kid. I think it would be easier to do work with Belly Baby on my back..

We set the wallpaper of their computer to be a picture of Mark holding a screaming Bertie. Since they are totally technologically inept, they won't know how to change it, either.

We gave the stuffed clowns (see entry from a few weeks ago) to Mark's sister, Helen, who apparently doesn't think they are going to kill her and her family in the middle of the night. Mark's mom was going on about how clean they were and how foolish we were for giving them away. Except I don't like stuffed animals (I know you can wash them, so they're one step up from carpet, but I still don't like them) and I live in fear of clowns. "Don't you want Bert to grow up not being scared of clowns?" "Actually, no."

Mark's mom had us set up so that Bert and I were to sleep in one room and Mark was to sleep in the other. On smaller than twin-beds and a wee cot for Bertie. I know the midwives told me not to have sex until 6 weeks after I give birth, but srsly, making Mark and I sleep in different rooms is just going too far. Mark's mom insisted it was safe to co-sleep with Bert on the tiny twin bed and his head totally could never get stuck in between the mattress and the wall because the gap was totally. . . .exactly the size of Bert's head. Mark and I slept on the floor with Bert on this two-dimensional-pillow next to us. Mark's mom was livid because we slept on one duvet and under the other. "You shouldn't even sit on a duvet that's on a bed, you'll crush the duvet." Which will make it. . . .less warm somehow? Also, apparently, you should NEVER wash a duvet because they don't need to be washed ever.* (See footnote, below.)

I like to hold my baby. Especially when I have nothing else to do and am bored at my Warty in-laws. Mark's mom kept nagging me to put him in the car seat or this one chair. I put him in the chair once and he immediately started howling and begging for mercy. She kept giving me the stink eye every time I declined her offer to put him in the car seat or the baby chair. He's my baby and I can totally bogart him if I want to!

Passive aggression: Mark and I agreed Warty couldn't hold the baby until her warts were covered up. She covered them all up, after lots of arguing that babies totally can't get warts and no one who works in medicine has to cover up warts because you totally can't catch them (except for the part where you totally can), except for one on her palm that she insisted was a mole. Because everyone gets warty-looking moles on their palms. By the time she did that, I had to feed Bert and give him his medicine (he has thrush -- which was possibly the cause of the boob-barnacling of last week), after which, we went to Mark's grans for an 8-hour 90th birthday bash that was so unintentionally hilarious and I totally had a good time, especially listening to Mark's gran and her neighbour Audrey discuss vegetables. ["Oh, I don't like that store." "Oh, no." "I don't like pre-packaged vegetables." "Oh, no, me neither. I like to pick mine out." "Not that they only pre-package the rotten ones, but every time I get a pack of tomatoes, the next day one of them is mouldy and the rest of them are soft." "Oh, yes. You know, I really like those tomatoes on the vine." "...Oh, yes. They are nice. Have you had too much red wine?" "No, I've been drinking sherry." *both giggle*]
BUT, Mark's mom took off the wart bandages for the party and that evening yelled at ME insisting she was not stupid and that I totally timed my breastfeed and medicine-giving to make sure she couldn't hold the baby because we're all conspiring against her and did she mention she's not stupid?
We let her hold the baby as soon as she put the bandages on again, but it was still a conspiracy and she is still not stupid!
You know how psycho killers in horror movies will hold dead bodies and kiss them in a way that is supposed to be tenderly, but is totally creepy?! The first time Warty held the baby, she walked off with him and was kissing his head in that exact creepy way.
You know how people will shit-talk you by talking passive-aggressively to their pets? Like, "Oh, honey, did the big mean lady that is totally in this room listening to me talk to you hurt your feelings? No, I don't like her either." The second time Warty held the baby she totally did that to me! She kept going on about how she didn't think we would let her hold him and how I said he was being fussy and he wasn't, I was just doing something wrong and what a lovely surprise that we let her hold him again because she didn't think we would and she is still totally not stupid.

But this is the best part. I was up in the bedroom, sitting on an ugly duvet and crushing it with my fat ass feeding Bert and watching the Euro 2008 final (alas, Germany didn't win -- also, Mark's dad, Brian, said, "You can't root for Germany if you're English, Chloe." "I'm not English, Brian, I'm German." "...Oh."). Mark was downstairs getting a verbal beat-down by his mom: Apparently, my parents treated my sister better than me and gave her more, etc., and I am so bitter about it that I have turned Mark against his parents and that's why he's always being contrary and winding them up, even though they've been complaining to Mark about that same old shit since I met them. Now that's a paranoid theory that would make my maternal grandmother proud!

After the Euro 2008 Final, Mark came up and said I had to take Bert downstairs so we could all say goodbye (not goodnight, goodbye) to Warty, who would be leaving early the next morning before we got up. I asked Mark why we had to say goodbye and couldn't we just skip it because Bertie needed a feed and a sleep and was on the verge of a meltdown. "Look, I don't know, and no. PLEASE just come downstairs and say goodbye." So I had to go downstairs and sit around for 5 minutes waiting for Mark's mom to say goodbye. "So, I won't see you tomorrow morning. Goodbye." "OK." _Chloe & Bert flee for their lives_

* FUCK YOU WARTY, DID I MENTION MY SON PISSED ON YOUR UGLY DUVET?!