My baby don't care for fingers

Last night, we made meatballs for tea. It was the heartiest meal I've seen the LGBB tuck into in, well, probably a few months. She has avoided using a fork where she can, will sometimes tolerate the use of a spoon. But mostly, because she knows it's something we try to encourage her out of, she wants to use fingers. The little monkey.

The secret? You'd think it would be something like "Oh, just the bestest most tasty meatballin' kick-ass flavours" that made her do it. No. It wasn't.

Cutlery. A knife and fork. I must say, too, she was getting the hang of it very well. Stabbing with the fork, slicing inaccurately with the bluntest knife in all the world. The look of determination on that set little laser-face could have cut through sheet metal. But she did it, damnit. She mastered it, if not very awkwardly.

All of a sudden, there she was; a fork and knife-wielding little person. Next she'll be saying she wants to move out to the shed because she needs some space away from us.