From farm to kitchen

Dear Byrd,
Yesterday we went strawberry picking. Even though it is summer it was cold and drizzling. I put you in your fuzzy bear suit, it is the cutest thing, but also ridiculous looking when you get fussy and cry. It is like crying at a party, your beautiful complexion set off by the white fur, the little ears on the hood, and your bottom limp hanging out, your eyes squeezed shut.
We went with a good baker friend, she and I have been planning to bake together for a while. I carried you on my front, zipped a rain coat over you. You seemed unaware of the rain even as it increased and everyone around us was taking shelter. We saw old ladies with knee pads picking boxes and boxes of berries, we saw whole families. I used your blue plastic toy bucket for the berries. I was starving. You are eating so much so often we started giving you solids this past weekend. Sometimes I feel like you are sucking me dry, I eat a lot of cream, I crave foods that will definitely fill me, I dread the sick feeling of hunger, it comes like a beast. It makes me feel faint. I have almost fainted a few times. I have a horrible phobia now of fainting. If I think of it, I stuff almonds into my pockets before leaving the house.
The kids running the berry picking were hiding under the white pines for shelter, we did not last long, we each had picked about 4 pounds. We drove back to the baker's apartment. She is married to an artist and their home is clean and interesting. They have indoor compost with thin red worms, there is a picture of the leaned back heads of three women with long hair, there are lots of polaroids propped up on shelves. There are lots of antique dressers and desks. The baker collects pieces of rusty metal and has a bowl of avocado seeds on the table. She showed me moss she had pulled out of sidewalk cracks to grow indoors. I wish I had known she wanted moss, I could have picked it for her. She always gives me so much I search for opportunities to give her something. Her and her husband are thinking of having a baby next year. He came over to you and said, "lets test your grip reflex," and put his finger into your fists, you grabbed it. He asked how you liked coffee. We all made faces at you and smiled at you, I kept handing you toys you dropped while we cooked the strawberries down with sugar, mixed them with gelatin, folded this mix into whip cream and then poured it onto a thin layer of cake, placed a piece of cake on top and poured more. You were bored. You got tired. I was proud when you fell asleep arms free with your lion on the floor of their guest room. We had laid two layers of thick blankets down for you.
The cake was beautiful, we decorated it with a thin layer of strawberry puree and gelatin, then baby kale leaves and sliced berries. I knew how excited your Dad would be to eat it later. The baker is allergic to dairy, it was her idea to make this cake, so she had me take the whole thing home. I never know what to make of food allergies, I am embarrassed when others make food with things she is allergic to, I hold back from eating cheesy things when she is there, I want to show my solidarity. But she always offers me foods off limits for her. And it has taken a while to figure out what she is allergic to, I have been the one to bring a main dish that she cant touch. It makes me cringe to think about.
Love,
Mom