Poor Abby has been getting new teeth for the best past couple weeks and I am totally over it.
Last night at supper she was sitting in her highchair, selectively picking through her spaghetti (which was devoured by the fistful the night before) and whining. My husband walked through the dining room saying that he was going downstairs to change out of work clothes and then return to eat. When Abby saw him head down the stairs she started to cry. She continued to cry for Daddy for the entire time he was downstairs. Now this is something new, usually this happens only when Mommy goes out of her sight, never Daddy. By the time he returned she was in full blown meltdown mode. She began to slowly calm down and started to ask for a banana.
“Eat more of your spaghetti and I will get you a banana,” I told her. She turned up her nose at the barely touched spaghetti and cried for a banana. At this point I was done with trying to reason with her or ply her into eating more or drinking more milk. I figured eating a banana was better than eating nothing so I cut up a banana and put it on her tray. She ate maybe two bites.
“Are you done?”
“OK, I will go get a paper towel and wipe you off.” More crying.
I remove the tray and begin to try to wipe off her hands and face. Crying. Spaghetti and banana are deposited all over Mommy’s shirt and arms. More crying because face wiping is torture.
“Hold still and we’ll be done faster, sweetie.” Code Red, meltdown imminent. “OK, let me get you unbuckled and we’ll be done.” Banshee-like shrieking commences. I pull her out of the highchair and try to put her down. But she melts into a puddle of screaming toddler. Definitely time for some ibuprofen, pajamas, and bedtime. Who replaced my sweet child with this wild animal?
The fit continues until Daddy mentions the magic C word and flashes a cookie. My “no dessert unless a good meal has been eaten with good behavior” rule is being blatantly ignored but fuck it. Mommin’ is hard and I’m to tired to argue any more.