Just so we’re clear, for my New Yawk readers, “Into the Maw” means into the mouth, not into the “mawl”, the place where you go shopping at stow-uhs.
So, what goes into the maw of a fifteen-month old? Just about everything. The Boy must be on a growth spurt, since his appetite has gone from normal to stout to Dwarf to Viking to terrifying. How can a child I can lift with one hand eat the same amount I can? One of his recent meals included: two eggs scrambled with cheese, two slices of ham, a pile of smoked salmon, raisins, crackers, Craisins (somehow eating dried cranberries is different from dried grapes), frozen peas, slices of cheese from an increasingly frantic and harried kitchen, and a tub of applesauce. This was just one of three or four daily meals for my son. If he eats like a pig now, as a small boy he’ll eat like a horse, and as a teenager will eat like a centaur. Where does it end? I’m imagining buying child kibble in fifty-pound sacks and milk will be delivered in a tanker truck. Our kitchen will need ovens and mixers running day and night to keep up with demand. Behold, the devourer of all, reaching for more: