Jack grabs the strawberry with his chubby fist, his finger and thumb then crammed into his mouth as he bites. He makes small noises of appreciation, pauses, and then orchestrates a delicate transfer of the strawberry between his hands. He concentrates, slowly rotating it, but it falls between his legs. He spends a minute trying to retrieve it. It catches in his bib pocket for a while and then with a push, drops with a thud on the floor. He scours the ground beyond his feet as I return the strawberry to his tray. I tap it, he notices, and resumes his task.
This is bliss.