One of the odd things about nearly purely breastfed babies is the easily imagined tether that the child has with the mama. It is completely understandable that a young one would be rather beholden to the vessel of their sustenance. Really, it only makes sense. If a baby wants to eat and what the baby eats comes out of one particular person’s boobs, that baby and that be-boobed woman providing nutritional nourishment are most likely within a short distance of one another.

Well, yesterday I had to go to the grocery store. Ingredients for dinner were necessary and Wifey was busy and Little Man was enrapt by a daemon named Youtube, so I gathered up Q and Q’s accoutrement to go to the grocery store down the street. Ah… I love having a grocery store down the street, but that is a post of another day. Anyhoo… I decided that since Q is still too small for sitting up in the grocery cart, yet big enough to hold her head up , so I decided to take the Kelty Kangaroo carrier. Think of a Baby Bjorn but with more strappy goodness. Together Q and I went to the grocery store to get ingredients for last night’s dinner of steamed chicken.

“What’s in steamed chicken?” you ask. None of your damned business, that’s what. Okay, I guess that was a bit harsh. Steamed chicken is made with a package of those chicken breast tenderloins (which is an odd concept on its own), potatoes, green beans, corn, onion, spices, and olive oil.

Slice the potatoes (about 8 to 10 regular potatoes, or 6 or 7 big honking potatoes) thin and salt, pepper, and garlic powder them to taste.
Toss them into a microwave safe bowl with about 1T of olive oil.
Cover those spuds with some saran wrap, poke a few holes, and nuke that for 20 minutes.
Whilst nuking the spuds, you sear the chicken in a frying pan with some olive oil in it.
Of course you season the chicken with salt and pepper (what kind of barbarian do you think I am?)
Set the chicken aside on a plate, in a bowl, a cup. Hey, I am not Stalin here. I don’t care what you put the seared chicken in, just take it out of the hot oil to stop cooking the poultry, otherwise it isn’t even worth attempting to steam the fowl.
Slice one medium to medium large white onion, but slice it like you mean it.
Open one large can of cut green beans and drain, or I suppose you could get fresh green beans and snap them yourselves if you are Captain Suzy Homemaker or some such crap. I don’t have that kind of time, Chuck. So lay off.
Open one can of summer crisp sweet corn or niblets or white corn or whatever and drain. It’s corn, damnit and a can of it. I am sure if you wanted to you could blanche some ears of corn and cut off the kernels, but I don’t think you get your bang for your buck by doing that. There is a point where industriousness becomes pointless.
‘DING’ the ‘taters are finished nuking. Dump the potatoes into a pretty deep thingy* for the oven. Make sure this thingy has a tight fitting lid. *thingy can be a Ducth oven, a clay pot, something else earthen ware-ish, a gigantic casserole, etc… Again, I ain’t your boss.
Dump the onions in. Salt and Pepper them bitches up
Dump in the green beans. Salt and pepper them bitches up too
Dump in the corn. Salt and pepper them bitches up too because they ain’t special
Stir to mix thoroughly (not to be confused with doing something Thoreauly which I found out whilst contemplating the singular beauty of the setting sun reflected off of the carapaces of the industrious ant building a home from whence his collective validation emits).
Put the chicken on top and season with… Not salt and pepper! That’s rookie!! The chicken has already been seasoned with salt and pepper! Don’t bring that weak-ass game into my house! Season the chicken with rosemary. Yes, rosemary! It is best if you have a sprig freshly plucked from your herb garden, otherwise I would suggest powdered rosemary.
Cover and bake that up for 45 minutes at 450°F.
Viola and Bon Apetite

Anyhoo… It was our first outing sans Wifey. She was in a pretty confused mood. This was only the second time she had seen the Kelty Kangaroo Carrier. She was soaking up all the looks we were getting, and everyone did seem to be staring. It wasn’t until we got out of the car at the grocery store that I realized it was our first un-supervised trip. We had a great time because it was a nice trip.

To recap:
Little Man hasn’t reacted to any exposure to eggs
I have work to do today
I don’t want to do it
I would rather be napping
I could have easily slept today awayQ is finding her voice these days
Talking up a storm
She is so vastly different than Little Man, so much so that we have pretty much thrown out everything we “learned” about rearing Little Man as a baby
Listening to Distraction by Angles and Airwaves off of We Don’t Need to Whisper