I’m referring to my son’s diet.

This weekend he partook in his first taste of actual food – the non-breast milk, can-buy-it-in-the-supermarket kind.

We waited until he was about six months old before springing the good stuff on him – some babies start earlier, some later – but judging by his reaction to it, we waited about six months too long. The kid couldn’t get enough!

You’re supposed to start with basics – organic, straightforward, one-ingredient type food – and you’re also supposed to give him a solid week on each, to keep them isolated and see if any allergies spring up.

We started with one of Oprah’s favorites:

He’s already eaten more sweet potato in just two meals than I have in my entire life. What can I say, I’m not a fan of the stuff. Not even in fry form, if you can believe it!

When it came to feeding time, we were prepared for a struggle. We expected flying food and messy clothes and a face covered in gook. And we definitely got our fair share of all three.

But there was no struggle at all, unless you count his attempts at getting as much food in his mouth as possible while continuing to suck his thumb at the same time.

Over the next few weeks we’ll be adding other flavors to his diet, like mushy banana and oatmeal and whatever else he’s allowed to ingest at this young age. Hopefully it will continue to go well. I can’t remember my first taste of actual food, but I know that as a kid I was a pretty picky eater, as in: if it’s not hotdogs or chocolate get it out of my face!

Early indications are either that my son will have an all-consuming appetite of John Candy proportions, or that we’ve been starving him so badly he doesn’t care what we put on the spoon, he just wants to live, dammit!