Christian claims that Zoe ate like a normal person Monday night. I don’t believe him. I had to work late and wasn’t there, so I didn’t see it for myself. And since she NEVER eats like a normal person, I’m not inclined to believe she did it Monday night. He claims that she actually sat still, took normal size bites (not gigantic ones followed by teeny, itty-bitty ones), chewed with her mouth closed, didn’t make abnormally animated silly faces, didn’t smack her lips and make disgusting noises, and actually ate most of what was on her plate.
I was home tonight. Like most other nights, she told us that she was going to eat, “…all of this, all of this, and all of this,” as she pointed to each thing on her plate. I told her I would believe it when I saw it. Thirty minutes later, while Christian watched the boys ride their bikes in the driveway and enjoyed some nice conversation with the neighbors, I sat at the table with Zoe, in a battle of wills over her BBQ sandwich. See, I wanted her to actually EAT some of the sandwich. She just wanted to destroy the bun by picking little tiny pieces off of it. (I would have been just as happy if she had eaten some green beans or mac and cheese, but she wasn’t going to do that either.)
I told her she could not go outside and ride her bike until she ate something, and she was determined to do everything but eat. She pouted, she wandered away from the table, said she had to go potty, told me her tummy hurt, etc.
Finally she said, “You’re not being nice to me. You’re not my nice friend anymore, Mommy,” and crossed her arms in a huff. I had to smile. Wouldn’t it be awesome if that’s the most unkind thing she ever says to me in her life? Ha ha. Yeah right. I’m not holding my breath.
I told her that since she could not say nice things to me, I didn’t think we should talk right now.
She chewed on that one (the thought, not the food – just in case anyone was confused) for about 30 seconds and then tried to switch tactics.
In her sweetest, most precious voice, she said, “Mommy? Would you like a bite of my sandwich? I’ll share it with you.”
I have to give her a “A” for effort on that one, but the whole point was for ZOE to eat the sandwich, so this new plan didn’t work either. I ended up carrying her upstairs in tears to the shower and she never got to go outside to play. Poor little Zoe.