He loves it. I do not. But still, I have to let him learn, because it wouldn't reflect very well on me if he went to college without knowing how to use utensils (although my house would be cleaner).
Little Man loves it so much that he refuses to be spoon-fed anymore. He will throw a nuclear meltdown if you don't let him hold the spoon and the bowl.
Every fiber of my Type A personality cringes when he slingshots applesauce across the room, pours a spoonful of yogurt onto his head, or maneuvers a scoop of oatmeal directly down into his high chair seat. My coping mechanisms? Looking away. Taking deep breaths. Repeating "Woosah." And reminding myself that this, too, shall pass.
At this very moment, the kids are upstairs napping after their lunch. I am taking a break from cleaning yogurt off the windows, to bring you this moment. Enjoy!
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