We all need to eat - it's one of the terms and conditions of Being Alive - like blinking and having a wee - necessary evils that we agree to in exchange for another day of breath. And after 29 years of practise, I've got the whole MRS GREN stuff down pat. Quite literally when it comes to nipping to the loo. It's a doddle. But then I've always been a multi-tasker.
However, this balancing act seems to be posing quite a challenge for the youngest lady in the Briars house. Sure, she has no problem with the growth element; she's corking at the excretion bit; she took to respiration as if it comes naturally. But the nutrition deal? Actually having to eat stuff? With her mouth? Like, chew?
Sadly, this eating lark is a non negotiable. As far as Important Things In Life go, it's up there. And so she's just going to have to lump it.
But herein lies the problem. She won't tolerate lumps. Of any sort.
Tiny fleck of fruit bobbing about harmlessly atop a smooth, creamy yoghurt? Spits it out.
Miniature piece of soft potato amid a sea of squelchy stew? Spits it out.
Rogue unblended pea lurking in an otherwise soup-like casserole? Spits it out.
What I'm trying to say is; she spits a lot of stuff out.
Conversely, her recently triple toothed gums yearn to chomp and gnaw at low lying tablecloths, trailing electrical cables and petrol pump hoses. Her plug-like three pronged attack on all things vaguely munchable is eternally worrying, yet irrefutably admirable.
So we have reached our present rock and hard place.
How do we get Boo to combine her desire to masticate with items that are intended for consumption?
We tried giving her 'finger foods' in her highchair - chunks of orange, cheese, toast, carrot - but she seems to believe these have been provided in order for her to create Banksy-like statement art works across our newly decorated kitchen wallpaper (though to be fair, her incisive comments about the state of our political climate, created with only with bananas smears and two chocolate buttons, was an undeniable triumph).
However, since I have no desire for my daughter to eat mash for the rest of her life, we pressed on.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me.
The Poop, like all babies, loves to be where she shouldn't be; lean where she shouldn't lean; touch what she shouldn't touch. And no matter how odd the location, how out of reach the item, how watched-over she is - SHE WILL ACCESS THESE THINGS.
So I decided to tie her food to them.
Turns out balancing a bowl of pasta on the rim of a plug socket is no two minute job. But, she found it; and she ate it.
Sellotaping a sandwich to the sharp corner of table, posting salad items into a DVD player and suspending meatballs over a garden pond require a streak of dedication I challenge other parents to match - but each death defying dinner paid dividends.
I've just got to crack how to strap a bowl of soup to a fast spinning playground roundabout.