This post has to start with a secret. A dirty little secret that makes me feel ashamed of myself for even thinking it. It's too awful to say out loud, so I'm going to have to type it. It's the ultimate in working mommy guilt.
Ready?
Here goes - I was **gasp** looking forward to coming to work today! I even briefly considered trucking in yesterday during our massive snowstorm. That's how bad the tantrums were this weekend. I've never once looked forward to work as an escape. I can now say with 100% certainty after this weekend that I would never make it as a SAHM (though part-time work is an attractive option!).
I guess we're in a control stage or something, because the tantrums over snacks and food this weekend were refuckingdiculous. Excuse the language, but it really does require a strong 4-letter word.
I'm almost wondering if we should rethink the food approach we've been taking where we decide what he eats and when and he decides how much. Apparently he would rather starve than eat what we're eating (even when it's chicken nuggets or broccoli and cheese or pizza, three things that he absolutely LOVED up until, apparently, this weekend).
Breakfast always goes so well. He has a waffle or english muffin, a handful of blueberries or grapes, a banana, and milk. He eats everything we give him. This weekend was no exception, but after that one blissful meal it all went downhill. All three days.
Some of the excerpts:
No, Charlie, you can't eat three bananas for lunch. Eat your grilled cheese (another meal he loved!).
** much tears shed and screaming over this injustice **
No, you can't have cookies for dessert when you didn't eat your lunch.
** more tears and screaming **
Charlie, stop eating the cat food. I have chicken right here. You love chicken!
** tears and screaming **
Charlie, don't throw your food- do NOT tip that bowl over, I swear!
** and on **
OK, fine. You don't want your chicken? Just eat the fucking applesauce and we'll call it a night.
** and on **
(don't worry, I didn't really curse at my child, however much I may have wanted to)
Each meltdown was spectacular. NOTHING could calm him down. He just sat in the kitchen (or the dining room, or the living room) and screamed and screamed and screamed. Sunday, same thing. Monday, same thing. I was to the point where I just had to walk away. I know he needs to eat, but I offer him plenty of food that he likes. Eating handfuls of stale cheese crackers isn't going to do him any good. We're not starving him for christ's sake, he can eat all of the freaking fruits/veggies/chicken/yogurt/turkey hot dogs he wants. He was such a good eater before and now it's all going downhill.
Thankfully he snapped out of it last night and had applesauce, mac and cheese, and peas for dinner.
