One small spoon for man, one giant spoon for mankind

Okay, so first you have to open this link, which opens a new window. Wait to be sure that “play” has been engaged, leave the window open, and then get back to this window. (Sorry about the hullabaloo — I still don’t know how to rig up this blog to embed .wav files.)

Now. While your association with that deathless tune might be this Dawn of Man moment from Kubrick’s sci-fi classic, I want to submit as an equally dramatic association the following series of breathtaking images:

Huh? Huh?

You will note the contrast from this series here, from just a bit over three months ago. Not like he has less schmutz on his face (indeed, he has more!). But lord love me I have less on my fingers.

I don’t have the heart to tell him that there is, in fact, a business end of the spoon.

7 thoughts on “One small spoon for man, one giant spoon for mankind”

  1. Perfect accompaniment! Hilarious!

    Remember the movie? Next comes waving the spoon over his head and smashing it down on the table so strained squash flies everywhere. Schmutz-averse Baba might need to invest in one of those veiled protective bee-keeper hats.

    The last shot is a winner – what a grin he has!

  2. Yeah, you know, Liza, I think the same thing. I’m sure he’ll plateau out at some point, but so far the cute, it just keeps comin’. ‘Spose there’s always the awkwardness of adolescence. That’ll slow him down.

    And annz: you’re a psychic! Because that was in fact exactly what he did! Does! A lot! I have taken to issuing a warning to the table that we’ve got a “Performance Art Alert” in effect. If he had longer hair I’m sure he’d drop his head and start painting the sweet potatoes all over the table.

    Haz-mat suit. I think every parent should have one.

  3. 3 & 4 are ages with peanut but he currently blazes ahead on this developmental trail. I frequently hand over toast, but so far haven’t been bold enough to let go of my spoon.

    I’m resigned to wearing schmutz (baby-goo) with pride or at least belle indifference. Of all the various shapes and flavours of baby-goo, sweet potato would rank as one of the more palatable (even when cooked for a carnivorous table).

    However, what if it were the dreaded Weetabix? I am still amazed that harmless cereal chunks can transform into a substance soo resistant to removal? Who has the spoon when its Weetabix, or is it schmutz-dependent??

  4. Lord love me we are full steam ahead, regardless of what’s on the menu. It is the hardest thing I ever did. He slaps his wet fingers in his hair and all over the table and on me, if I’m fool enough to be in range. I aspire to “belle indifference,” but right now it’s quite bête-like. Me, the wimp with half as many kids as you.

    (Anyone else as provincial as me, and in need of the Wikipedia entry on Weetabix? Here.)

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