I ate dinner to the accompaniment of a blaring radio and Ife's screams of displeasure that threatened to drown out the radio. He needed to nurse, not eat dinner. I finished my meal thinking that he'd calm down and eat something at any minute. It took him a little bit to get him back into eating mode. First I held him and let him see himself crying in the mirror. Then we sat quietly and nursed. Finally, Ife polished off his dinner of tofu-stuffed ravioli topped with chunky tomato sauce with string beans on the side. Dinner was NOT a Martha Stewart moment.