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Monday, July 11, 2005

More bad mama tales

More birthday tales to come, of course, but a few tidbits from our ongoing Regular Life first.

As I've mentioned on occasions too numerous to count, my kids are really, really small. Genetics being what it is, it's pretty likely that no amount of calories will change that. Little people, little frames, little bones. I suppose it's possible that they could get *fat* someday, but *big* they will never be.

Nevertheless, when the pediatrician, passing strangers, second cousins that your dad, the putz, invited to your son's birthday party, and Jim Cantore (ok, I'm just making that part up) are all giving you tips and tricks for how to make sure that your wee babes get adequate nutrition, it makes you a little anxious about your children's eating habits. In my case, I am convinced that I would be nothing short of a serial killer if I denied my children food at any opportunity, under circumstance.

For example, I offered Baby Blue a toasted cheese sandwich -- now with extra butter! -- for lunch. Sitting on the kitchen floor, she nodded with that marvellous toddler full-body nod, and waved her arms for emphasis when I asked if she wanted a sandwich. But when strapped into her high chair and presented with the sandwich, she turned up her little nose.

What's an anxious mother to do? I let her down from the high chair and turned up the stereo while I thought. Baby Blue danced -- Mighty Mighty Bosstones? "Ahhh-la!" Jonathan Richman? "Again!" Aretha Franklin? Watch her kick her little legs to the beat.

While pondering the question of my child's nutrition, I wandered to the refrigerator. There we have several containers of bean salad and pasta salad, a little bit of fruit salad, birthday cake, some supermarket cake that my cousins dropped upon us because they came here straight from their rented vacation house on the Cape, and some unidentifiable hermit-type bars that my friends brought over last week. These desserts are bad news for me, since no one but me will eat them -- LG wanted a cake with candles, but announced well ahead of time that he would not actually be *eating* the cake, since he only likes ice cream. (Yes, I know there are ice cream cakes, but he doesn't like those either.)

In any event, I decided to try one of the unidentifiable bars. Baby Blue, bopping out to Husker Du, held out her hand for some. I hand her a largish crumb, which she consumes with alacrity. "Oh ho," I say to myself, brilliantly. "You do want to eat, you just don't want to be in your high chair."

So you can guess what I did next. That's right, Baby Blue is eating her cheese sandwich off the floor while she crawls around.

Hey, calories are calories, right?

It is too bad about that vacuum, though.



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