Thursday, February 9, 2017

It is Genetic

I vividly remember when Juan must have been about Benjamin's age and we were out at dinner when he took off his pacie, dipped it in ketchup and put it back in his mouth. And repeated it.

Benjamin has been liking ketchup for a bit now, but the other morning he blew our socks off. Norm had finished feeding him breakfast, put him down from his high chair and went upstairs to grab the shoes so they could go to school.

When he came back downstairs, he found this:

Benjamin had reached the ketchup off the table, opened the cap, squirted a perfect squirt on his tray, closed the cap and was eating ketchup with his finger. He was as happy as ever. 

Some people will criticize that he shouldn't be eating "that junk", but belonging to the family that he belongs to, ketchup actually holds a very high place for us. I am convinced it is genetic. Ketchup is that one staple that you will always find in our house. We may be out of meat, out of pasta, out of butter, but never out of ketchup. Besides, he could be eating pop-tarts and drinking lemonade for breakfast... 

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