It's official. These pictures were taken a couple of weeks ago when it wasn't quite as official. He was spitting more out than he was taking down. Maybe that's why he still looks a bit skeptical above. But today he ate a whole jar and a half, which seemed like a feast. His little spirit fingers went wild and his wrists and ankles did a thousand circles... which is what happens when he's excited. And I didn't have to trick him by waiting for him to open his mouth for something more appetizing like his fists, before I snuck it in.
He's really eating people food. Whipped into an inedible consistency of course, but people food still. And for the third time, I feel kind of scared, then amazed, then relieved... when I remember that the goal IS to raise them-- which means they evolve, and that eventually they have to eat like the rest of us. And not only smell like sweet (ok-- or sour) breast milk. And even though his nose might turn orange from too many carrots, and his wildly colorful spit-up will be so much more dangerous for my upholstery, and all bets are off on just how nasty his poop will smell... I somehow feel a little safer knowing that I'm not the only one that can keep him alive.