Watching my Mother eat lunch is like watching an eight month old eat. The food goes in her mouth, she chews, she moves it around her mouth, she wrinkles her face, she gives a grimace, and then she pushes it out her mouth, down her chin and all over her jersey and slacks. Then she picks the bits off her tongue and wipes them on the table.
The only difference between her and the eight month old, is that she asks before every fork or sip. "What's this?"
Nothing tastes right for her now.
All food is "gross, yuck, no, no, no, no."
"You like cantaloupe" I say "It's one of your favorites."
"No, no, no!"
Today even her favorite orange juice was not going to be swallowed! Out it came, all over her jersey.
And her walker... it looked like it had been spray-painted with graffiti. But I think it was some of yesterday's dinner.
"Woo-oo, mercy mercy me, ah things ain't what they used to be, oh no no..."