Children are born with certain traits that I’m sure were only given to them by God to test the patience of mothers and try to build our character. There are just some things that ALL kids seem to do. They don’t like to share their toys, they magically congregate in the bathroom when their mothers try to pee or shower, the minute they see or hear their mom on the phone is the minute they decide to play with the loudest toy they own. They all do this crap to us. Right now I’m dealing with another one of those mom problems that I’m pretty sure is universal; children always want to eat whatever they see their mothers eating.
Allow me to explain. One day this week I knew that Mike had already fed Lincoln breakfast since that’s typically something he does in the morning before walking out the door. As soon as Mike was gone, Lincoln proceeded to start the food drama. I’m huunngrryy. I need food. My belly is rumbling. My belly is rumbling? Seriously, who teaches this kid that garbage? I digress. Even though I knew he had already eaten, I gave him a banana and a random assortment of other things he was asking for. Now it was my turn to eat breakfast. One banana left on the counter. Perfect. There’s my breakfast. Oh no. My child wailed, cried and pleaded with me to give him that last banana in the house. Like he hadn’t eaten in days. I may or may not have whined profusely as I handed him half of my banana. The other half? I shoved it in my mouth as fast as I could so that he couldn’t ask for that too. Yeah, that’s a thing Caimbrin & I do when one or both of the kids starts asking for our food. We just shove it in our faces and with our cheeks puffy like chipmunks, we claim some level of victory over the scavengers with bottomless pits for stomachs. (Unfortunately, our kids are comfortable enough with their aunts to beg, so I have to fend off Lincoln and Cora many times and the same goes for Caimbrin. Two tiny beggars.)
I can’t tell you how many times Lincoln has stuck his fingers directly in my food on my plate. Why? Why? I know exactly where those grimy toddler hands have been, and the last place I want to see them is in my plate of food. It drives me insane. I just want him to eat his food and me to eat my food. I just want to eat a meal that I don’t have to give half of away. It’s amazing the act he’s able to put on trying to convince me that he’s starving and totally needs my food in addition to whatever he’s already eaten. This morning I hit a new low. I saw that Lincoln was outside with Mike, so I rushed to the kitchen and put a waffle in the toaster. Yessss. I can eat my breakfast in peace. He’s outside. The waffle popped up and I quickly started to eat. Well, wouldn’t you know that at that exact moment, I see a small figure heading towards the sliding door to open it and come in. I panicked and out of desperation, I ran to my bathroom and hid in a dark corner so I could inhale that waffle without having to share. (Yes, I ate in a dark bathroom. I told you it was a new low) Mommy, mommy, where are you? I emerged from the darkness and nonchalantly said, “I’m right here. What do you need?”
“I need a waffle too.”
Areyoufreakingkiddingme. What kind of sixth sense does this child have that he was outdoors -OUTSIDE- when I made the waffle, but was somehow drawn inside at the exact moment that I began to eat, and without seeing me at all, apparently sniffed out what I had been scarfing down in the darkness? It’s just not right.
One day I’ll get to eat my own food again, right? How long will this continue? He’s a boy, so I’m guessing well into the teenage years. Teenage boys are usually garbage disposals. So perhaps in 15 years I’ll eat in peace without a beggar trying to steal my food? At this point, I need a date night with my husband if only to eat a plate of food that hasn’t been touched by a three-year-old. Until then, I guess the silver lining is that I’m only consuming about half of the calories I am trying to consume. Maybe that was his plan all along. Help his mom get back to her pre-baby weight. I’ll just call it my new diet plan.
Lincoln with the uncle that I’m pretty sure is to blame for this problem of mine. I seem to remember him eating his own portion of dinner and then whatever else he could talk the rest of us out of.