Parenthood is definitely an ongoing lesson in generosity. As the parent of two small children -- one who is only 4 months old, one who will be three in August -- my days at home with them revolve entirely around their needs and their schedules. I sometimes think it's the most challenging aspect of motherhood: the fact that I often can no longer do what I want, when I want. Like when I want to lie on the couch and flip through a magazine and instead I have to "feed" and "care for" the kids, GOD.
I feel like I'm getting fairly adept at striking a good balance between my own pursuits and child-wrangling -- catching up on freelance work during naptimes, hitting the gym when Daddy can take over for a while, reading books during that one solitary minute between when my head hits the pillow at night and I fall into a slack-jawed, drooling coma -- and while I may sometimes begrudge the unexpected intrusions on such beloved activities as watching Battlestar Galactica without interruption (I tried to introduce a diaper-pooping and bottle-demanding moratorium between 9 and 10 PM on Fridays but the baby totally blew me off) I have to confess there's one particular aspect of parenthood where I have not been able to find my reserves of motherly selflessness, and that is this:
I hate sharing my meals.
There! I said it. I hate sharing my meals with my toddler. I know, could I BE more greedy and selfish and downright miserly? Next I'll be saying how I hate sharing my precious, precious oxygen, and could he breathe somewhere else, that'd be super.
Really, though, I prepare specific diet-friendly amounts of food for my meals, and when my kid gleefully ignores his delicious fattening macaroni and cheese that I would dearly LOVE to eat with my bare hands in favor of picking pieces of tofu out of my low-cal stir fry -- the very same tofu he flat-out refuses to touch if it's offered to him on his own plate -- well, what can I say, I HATE THAT. Ditto: the banana slices in my cereal, pieces of my rice cake, spoonfuls of my yogurt. I love my kid and honestly I would and do give him anything within reason but still: DUDE STOP BOGARTING MY FOOD.
Does your kid do this too? Or do you not notice, because why would you care if your sweet child wanted some of your food, it's not like you're some kind of SELFISH HAG.
1. No, my son does it too. He's right about the same age as your son as well. Chicken, while apparently a terrible, vicious poision on his own plate, is somehow magically and irresistibly tempting when on my plate or my husband's. Salad? Wonderfully delicious in Mommy's bowl, but somehow vile and unacceptable in his own. I also find it very frustrating. Frankly, though, given his recent determination to survive mainly on air and a pinch of salt, I'll gladly let him nibble at my sandwich while delcaring that he does not like his own. Nevermind that they're two halves of the same sandwich.
Posted at 9:02AM on Jun 20th 2008 by Elizabeth