I've read a lot of books, surfed a lot of blogs, and sought a lot of advice in general about parenting. But they've all basically boiled down to "you'll learn it by doing it."

Today we learned not to give Avery the ads while Dad's reading the paper.



I know newsprint is treated with crazy chemicals and easily dissolves, so I never give her those. But the glossies have heretofore seemed harmless. She likes to rip them up, she likes the crinkly sound they make, and sure, she likes to chew on them.

I didn't realize she was eating them until about fifteen minutes ago. I glanced up from my comics to see a Calphalon cookware set, 249.99, protruding from her lips. Maybe it was a one-time thing, that I reacted a mite too slowly this time to prevent the page from going down the pipe. All I know is that when I retrieved this strip -- which as it turns out was several inches long -- it was like pulling the cord attached to the bathtub stopper, only in horrible, horrible reverse.

Suddenly, the child's mouth was a vertiable volcano, erupting just-ingested sweet potatoes and bananas, pouring pahoehoe across her blanket, her support pillow, and herself. The blast came in three waves, reserving the last and greatest for when Dad had picked her up to soothe the impending eruption of dismay. It never came; Avery surveyed the swath of destruction with an impartial eye, as though saying, "Huh, look what I made."

We've been lucky, really; this is the first serious puke from the punkinhead, and the first time it's happened with solids. I know it won't be the last, and it's actually a little comforting to have broken that seal, so I'm not totally unprepared when she's six and chucking macaroni and cheese over the side rail of the Jungle Cruise. But hopefully now I'll have a little more parenting savvy when it comes to not actually causing the nausea.