First French Fry

I’m still not sure how it happened. When I was pregnant I swore up and down that my baby would never EVER eat fast food. And while perhaps the amazingly fresh and delicious fare from Santa Barbara’s Shoreline Cafe must never be considered fast food, still, to borrow recklessly from Gertrude Stein—a fry is a fry is a fry is a F.R.Y…Somehow it was between his little fingers and in his mouth quicker than the cheeky seagull snatching food from our picnic table. And there it stayed for a bit—just the tip of the fry between T’s perfect, cherubic lips as he savored, considered, decided. All those in favor? One 14 month old baby. The guilty mama too, I guess, as she handed him another…And wept.