Me? I'm not all that into cooked vegetables as a side dish. They're kind of smushy and taste very bland. All in all, they don't contain the staples which make every food enjoyable: fat and cheese. However, the young one doesn't know this yet. He's been diving into carrots, peas, sweet potatoes, even prunes. I know he's mine because he came out of "down there", but I'd otherwise doubt it because me and peas? Nada and niente.
Witness: The discovery of carrots...
Caption: (Spoken with a British accent, because I don't know why - I'm the author that's why.) "I'm not entirely sure what you are trying to pull here. This does not taste like milk. This whole ordeal is entirely too messy. Remember the good old days when you just hooked me up to the boob and called it a day? But in the spirit of the new year, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and try one more bite".
Caption 2: "Wait one bloody second (See? I told you he's British), an exciting turn of events has occurred. What I dost think, I no longer thinketh about our little orange root vegetable. Let me assess the situation again, Milady".
Caption 3: "By God, I think I like these carrots. Mom. Carrots! Have you had these things?! They're fantastic. Whoever invented them should be promoted and given a big hug".
Final Caption: "Mom. Mo-o-o-om. Carrots. I love them. I want to go there".
And so ends another day of table food success. He's an animal at the dinner table. And yet, he is my son, so did you expect anything to the contrary? Other than the fact that he's contrary? Because that also means unequivocally that he's flesh of my flesh.