All food intended for infants should be very thoroughly cooked. The
numerous varieties of farinaceous substances—biscotine, farina,
rice-flour, arrowroot, etc., however nourishing may be their properties
when rightly prepared, are harsh and drastic when underdone. Unless you
have a nurse whom you know for yourself to be faithful and experienced,
always superintend the cooking of baby’s food. It can do no harm—it may
prevent much—if you examine it every day to see that it is right as
to quality and quantity. Do not aim at variety in this branch of your
profession. Confine a child under three years of age to a very limited
bill of fare. His stomach is too delicate an organ to be tampered with.
Let milk—scalded or boiled, as a rule—be the staple, mixed with farina,
barley, or something of the sort. Let him munch Graham bread and light
crackers freely. Remove far from him hot bread and griddle-cakes. When
he has cut his carnivorous teeth, Nature says—“This creature wants
meat.” And Nature’s supply is seldom in advance of the demand. If he
did not need what the teeth are designed to chew, you may be sure they
would not be given him. Grant him the novel food sparingly and with
discretion as to kind. Rare beef and well-boiled mutton, tender roast
or boiled chicken and turkey are safe. Withhold fried meats of every
description. Do not let him touch veal or pork in any shape. Mince
the meat very finely to save his digestive apparatus all unnecessary
work. Mealy old potatoes—_never_ new or waxy—young onions, boiled in
two waters; fresh asparagus, green peas, and dry sweet potatoes should
suffice for vegetables, with, of course, rice and hominy. For dessert,
once in a while, a simple custard, a taste of home-made ice-cream,
rice and farina puddings, Graham hasty pudding; the inner part of a
well-roasted apple, and, in their season, ripe peaches and apples, will
not harm him, taken in moderation, if he be well and strong.
_Pare the fruit always._ The skin of an apple is as bad for him as a
bit of your kid gloves would be; that of a grape more indigestible than
sole-leather. Raisins—“skins and all”—are unfit for anybody to eat.
Pulp and pits, they are poisonous for baby. Ditto, pickles, pastry, and
preserves. Ditto, most kinds of cake and all sorts of fruit puddings.
Give him light suppers, and put him to bed early in a dark room. He
will not grow better in a glare of artificial light than will your
camellias and azalias.
Always see for yourself that his last waking thoughts are pleasant;
that he shuts his eyes at peace with the world and in love with you;
that his feet are warm, his stomach easy, and his body not overloaded
with blankets and quilts; also, that the nursery is clean and freshly
aired. These are better prescriptions for sound slumber than all the
old wives’ fables of the excellent properties of that pernicious
drug—Soothing Syrup.