Food for Thought

As I write this, Alden is sniffling occasionally, and bursting into outraged wails every few minutes.

He is doing this because I am not letting him get back out of bed to have something to eat.

I am not letting him get back out of bed to have something to eat because, well, he ate a grilled cheese sandwich, and a hot dog. And a kiwi and some raisins, and probably some other stuff Josh didn’t bother to mention, all between 5 and 8 PM. And at 7:00 I told him I was not going to be excited about him hopping back out of bed to have something to eat. And I’m not letting him out because he does this Every Night. Doesn’t eat at dinner. Begs for food after bedtime has arrived.

We’re either the world’s worst parents or the world’s biggest suckers or something.

(interruptus)

OK, so what just happened was this: He hopped out and came to the door. Looked at me balefully. I caved. (I KNOW! I know.)

You have to understand that from birth to forever (like a year) we heard nothing from the pediatrician and the WIC people except concern about his “low weight”. This baby born at almost 10 pounds hovered at 10th – 15th percentile in weight his whole first year. The drumbeat of “is he eating enough”  piled worry upon the stress of my dogged determination to exclusively breastfeed because, dammit, having needed a C-section, I was by-god going to do SOMEthing right. (I KNOW! I know.) Josh would have had that kid sucking on a bottle on day two and never looked back. in hindsight, who the heck knows? But our “food journey” has already been kinda frought.

And food is frought for me,anyway!– and, I’ll venture, for Josh in some ways too. Big people, who love good food– and food and comfort and love sure get all mixed up at times.

So, just now, when I caved, I said, I said, “OK, you can have a string cheese, but that is the only thing I am offering you.” (because,  a) he (unlike many kids) isn’t THAT crazy about them and b) a string cheese (proteinish) would in fact hold him if he WAS in fact hungry, etc etc etc.)

He crumpled and said,”My daddy offers me vegetables.” Which is true. The “usual” rule is he can always have a carrot. But we are out of carrots. So I offered him spinach. Big nod. Ok, we go to the kitchen and he picks out a BIG piece of spinach. Nibbles. Nods his head like “Yep, this is what I REALLY wanted!”  He slowed down on nibbling. Me: “Are you done?” Him: “Yes, I was just really hungry.” Me: “Let’s have a hug, buddy.” We do. He goes back to bed. No retuck, he even shut his door behind him.

It’s amazing to me to see him eat the fruits of our own garden. He (oh reviler of things green) will happily pick his own bowl of salad. green peas from the vine. Carrots from our garden are better than candy to him. (I KNOW! I know. But I’ve never lived it before!)

He’s awake in there

(interruptus)

So— all is quiet right now.

The Spinach-of-love-and-ritual having been consumed, he came to the door, and asked for a hug-and-kiss.

My pleasure, kiddo. My pleasure.

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