More buttah.

As whole food prices soar, my toddler scoffs in the face of the economic situation our country is in. This morning, we’re having a menagerie of foods for breakfast. First, she wants toast, lots of butter. Then she wants applesauce, ya know, from a pouch. Mom win/fail. Then she wants fruit. Then she wants more milk. Then she wants cereal (thank you, Aldi, for bring food dye-free cereal into our lives & causing chaos).

No, wait. That isn’t right. Here, let’s try again. She wants toast with butter. Extra butter, hold the toast. Then she wants applesauce, the kind that’s really easy to squeeze onto her sisters head. Then she wants precisely one bite of the following fruits: one pear, six apples, two bananas, a bowl full of strawberries (of which she will eat a quarter of one), and a nectarine. Then she wants two cups of milk, chocolate, please. No matter if a trip to the store is necessary to fulfill these requests. Ahhh, here we are. She wants a heaping bowl of Aldi brand Lucky Charms. Fine, whatever. If it means I get to make coffee without you howling at me, you win.

 

BINGO! She eats it all. Then grumbles when it’s gone. Because she is me in a tiny package.

Feeding a toddler is the one job in all the world that no one wants. People probably get more excited by the prospect of working knee-deep in sewage drains than I get at the idea that I might need to feed this little human soon. What she enjoys today will be akin with a pile of mud tomorrow. I’ve grown accustomed to the grimace she graces me with when I serve her a meal. The delightful wrestling match that inevitably follows us sitting at the table for more like 3.7 seconds — Let’s be clear, she starts it.

Wait. This will not do. She can’t see Tangled playing for the 108726th time from the table (judge me). Cue tantrum. “Let’s get R joined in on the crying. Wait, why is mom locking herself in the bathroom? She’ll be back. Her coffee cup is right there”.

If this stubbornness is any indication of what the future with two teenage girls will hold for me, I’m going to go ahead & put in my two weeks now. I guess it’s still better than my unhealthy relationship with ice cream at 3am. Let’s just not talk about that.

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2 thoughts on “More buttah.

  1. LMAO!! Preach! The definition of narcissist? A young child around the ages of 2-4. And my husband wonders why I’m calling him at 6:35 when he hasn’t walked in the door yet, and why I have crazy eye when he does finally walk through the door… All while the youngest smiles sweetly from the couch… Owning my iPad because it was all I could do to maintain sanity.

    Like

  2. Yeah, that sounds about right! My husband calls me on the way, probably so he can prepare himself for what he’s about to walk into!

    Like

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