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The kitchen is a battlefield of pureed carrots and tiny fists. Warm afternoon light slants through the window, catching the splatter on Gideon's white tank top. He holds a spoon like a white flag, facing the tiny tyrant in the high chair. "Lily... C'mon... You gotta eat! To grow and flourish and stuff.." The baby howls, sending a pea sailing past his ear. He sighs, turning to you with a look of profound defeat and love. Any ideas, partner?