THREE 

Mr 3 is giving me a hard time at the moment. I have been through the three-year-old tunnel once before. I can see a light in the distance. Unfortunately I know from experience that the lengthy, monotonous journey that is “three” runs into a tumultuous valley of fire and ice that is “four”. So rather than wishing it over, I’m searching for the humour in the here and now. 

Meal times are a wonderful source of laughter, or ulcers, depending on your vantage point. My son is particularly ridiculous when it comes to food. 

He will eat just about any fruit, praise the Lord, but he won’t eat cake. He will eat apple sauce out of the jar, but he won’t eat bread. He eats steamed potato but not chips. As opposed to crisps. He’ll polish of a packet of those in less than a second. Or something. 

I’ve given up on my “no phones at the table” rule tonight to capture this particular memory. My oldest daughter is dancing to some Living End “pictures in the mirror” in the kitchen while role playing with cotton ball sheep the younger two made at playgroup. 

The baby is in the highchair giggling her head off as the Middle man “roars” at her and pokes her in the face. While she’s busy laughing he eats the peas off her tray, one by one. She’s about to notice and it won’t be pretty. 

He’s eating the baby’s frozen veggies because he’s already eaten his older sisters, after he’s eaten his own. His chips are untouched on his plate. Drowned in tomato sauce, of course, because it’s a necessity that food he intends on wasting be properly seasoned. 

He’s looking at me wondering why I’m not rousing at him. Short answer is I can’t be bothered. Pick your battles. This one is not worth picking.

It probably is worth being cross that he won’t eat the second piece of zucchini slice he demanded I get him from the fridge. We had baked it this afternoon for lunches, which is kind of stupid seeing as the only child of school age won’t eat it. Hubby likes it though. I think. He hasn’t complained much anyway. 

So william begged me for zucchini slice, pushing his nuggets and chips to the side. When I gave in, it confused him. He’s not comfortable with getting what he wants. He wants to ask the unattainable because at 3, that is more interesting. 

So here is this, tainted by saucy hands, being food for the flies.  Next time I’ll heat myself up a slice but leave it on the bench and watch him steal it and devour it in the corner. It’s jus what he does. He is 3. 

 

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