Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Cheese Doodle Guilt
Whenever something bad happens, or even something good- I find something about it in which to assign guilt to myself.
With Chubbs, that bad habit has ballooned out of control. Everything makes me feel guilty -not doing enough therapy, not reading to her enough, not standing on my head/dancing/juggling entertaining her enough.
But today I discovered a way to soothe my mommy guilt with one thing that has made me feel quite guilty for a while now.
Chubbs is such a picky eater. She is sixteen months old (yes, I know I posted seventeen months a couple of days ago...I claim prego brain)- anyway, she is sixteen months old and still gets most of her nutrience through the bottle.
1. taste the food and immediately spit it out with a face of appalling disbelief that I would torture her so
2. pin her lips together and turn her jaw upwards in a stuck up way that implies that in no way could she deign that food to cross her lips
3. find the food that I have pried open her mouth to insert far back into her cheek...fishing it out with her weirdly talented tongue and spitting it out so forcefully that I end up wearing half of her dinner while she wears the "where's my bottle?" smirk
Occasionally, she will surprise me and chew and swallow real food, mistakenly leading me to believe that she loves it. She waits until I have fixed it a second time (or have gone out and bought it in bulk) and then follows one of her normal three steps.
She most always will eat stage 2 or 3 baby food- but only carrots, sweet peas or mixed vegetables.
She will almost always eat crunchy things- such as crackers, cheerios, goldfish (but only if she is feeding them to herself)
She will pitch tantrums until she gets sweet things- ice cream, cake, KLONDIKE bars...and if she see someone eating it and is not offered any- watch out because your eyes will soon be scratched out by the tiny fingers of terror, extracting revenge for not sharing the sweet treat with such a deserving child...
If we are at a dinner party and we feed her real food off of our plates, she eats whatever just fine- proving that she can when she wants to.
But once at home, and eating isn't quite as social as it is just Mommy nibbling along with her (Daddy is still at work) instead of a room full of adoring fans cheering on her every jaw movement, she refuses to work at it, settling for the sure to come comfort bottle that merely requires her to contentedly suck instead of diligent chewing.
Experimenting, I spread cheese doodles all around the room- places that she would need to work to get to.