Okay, I have to get you to weigh in on this one…because I don’t have a husband to tell me if I am being absolutely ridiculous.
Well that’s what I imagine my future husband to say to me when I discuss whether or not a one-year-old should have raviolis for breakfast.
Ellie is really into raviolis lately…see photographic evidence below.
She is also really into making her own decisions, and the trend lately seems to be to refuse to allow me to aid her in feeding herself. Under no circumstance shall I touch her food after I have placed it on the tray of her highchair. This includes, but is not limited to, me blowing on the food to cool it down, cut it into smaller pieces, or spooning it into her mouth. NONE OF IT IS ALLOWED. Instead, she wants to feed me. And if I don’t comply she gets pissed.
And sometimes I become overly hopeful in her ability to spoon feed herself, and this is what I get. That’s yogurt and bananas you are looking at, in her eyes and on her pajamas.
So I am basically limited to foods that she can either put in her mouth on her own, OR, put on her fork or spoon – yes, she sometimes feels that is the best way to get the food in her mouth…to place it on the utensil with her hands.
The morning rush is the particular issue because, as much as Ellie is in denial about it, I have places to be. And in order to go to those places without looking and smelling like a hot mess, I have to shower. Which means, that I have to strap Ellie into the highchair, and place her right outside of the bathroom, with her breakfast food.
Cheerios used to serve as an excellent breakfast appetizer. But these days, she is not impressed.
This morning, she toddled into the kitchen and when I opened the fridge to get out her milk, she reached up, took out the container of left-over raviolis, and handed it to me.
I explained to her that we don’t eat raviolis for breakfast, and that she could eat them at lunch…which prompted a protest in the form of foot stomping and then rolling around on the floor.
Thankfully, she forgot about it when I put her in her highchair and handed her a mini-PB&J sandwich (crust cut off prior to being placed in her possession).
I hoped in the shower while singing, “Old McDonald had a farm, EYI-EYI-OOOOOOOOO…and this farm he had a COW…EYI-EYI-OOOOOOOOO…with a MOOOO-MOOOO here…” And the moment I would stop, she would cry and I’d start up again.
I thought I handled that parenting moment quite well.
Until I talked to my sister this evening.
ME: “Yea, Ellie threw a tantrum because I wouldn’t give her raviolis for breakfast.”
A: “(laughing) I would have just given her the raviolis.”
ME: “Yea, but they aren’t a breakfast food.”
A: “Yea, but what did you give her?”
ME: “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
A: “Explain to me how that is more of a breakfast food than raviolis?”
ME: “I don’t know…it just seems closer to the breakfast food family. And I am very limited because she can only have things she can eat on her own.”
A: “Right…but what time does she eat lunch, like 11am?:
ME: “Yea, maybe 11:15am…”
A: “So what is the difference between 630am and 11am? A big fat nothing.”
Okay, so I’m pretty sure if Ellie stays at Adriane’s house for a weekend, she may have a turkey and stuffing for breakfast.
And I am okay with that, as long as I get to wash my hair.