The Runaway Parents

Over the past few weeks I have officially fallen in love with Milo, which is to be expected because of course he is the cutest baby ever in the history of time. (What? I'm a Jewish mother, what did you think I'd say? Don't worry about me. I'll just sit here in the dark while you never write or call but that's okay, I still love you.) Milo has officially been sleeping through the night for a whole week, which makes him a hell of a lot more lovable, but what has really sealed the deal for me is Milo's love of mashed bananas.

Steven and I are pretty food-obsessed people; we plan vacations around where we can eat, we are always up for a trek to remote corners of the world to sample new things to put in our mouths, and clearly we have passed this trait along to our son. He started on solid food two weeks ago. Week one was barley cereal, which he liked but was slightly confused by. Last week was banana. And when Milo eats banana he acts like he's so excited about the taste that he might blast right out of his bouncy seat and into orbit. He kicks his feet, he makes yummy noises, he opens his mouth wide for more more MORE BANANA NOW! And how can you not love someone whose every need is met by a spoonful of banana?

That said, it's still ncie to have time away from the Great Banana Lover. Because whenever Steven and I leave the house together, minus Milo, it feels like we are playing hooky, and it is delicious. When Steven asked me what I wanted to do this weekend, I suggested we have a romantic retreat to the Hamptons, which are cheaper and more wind-swept and lovely in the off-season. I was joking, of course, because it would be impossible to have a romantic retreat with Milo, cute as he is.

"Maybe we can just leave him in the crib with a bunch of bottles," Steven said.

"A bunch of bottles and a stack of diapers and a jar of banana and a spoon," I added. "He'd probably be fine."