If I enjoyed my food in a restaurant like my son enjoys a bottle of milk while sitting on our laps, I would be arrested for the 1920's definition of public indecency. Waiters carrying out my meal would be witness to me first widening and then closing my eyes as I wait for the food to be set down before me. The other diners would gasp and clutch their pearls as I knead my chubby legs with my hands, rhythmically imitating each lingering, delicious bite. Back and forth, up and down, occasionally smiling with a mouth full of food. I would then fall asleep with the fork in my mouth, still imitating the chewing motion while fully engaged in a dream...even seemingly dream-laughing at all the crazy ways that the service staff fussed over me while preparing my dish. Perhaps even dreaming of the next meal.
Its good to be a baby, isn't it? Even having a bottle is an extraordinary experience.
Note to self: make sure to film Baby D while doing his dinnertime leg massage.