The biggest mistake you can make as a parent is to get comfortable. I remember the day I sealed my fate all too well: my son was asleep before bedtime, the house was clean, dinner was made and I was settling down with a glass of wine.
I thought to myself, I’ve finally got a hang of this “mom” thing. We could totally have like, five more kids. I can do anything!
I slept my last peaceful sleep that night.
Morning came, and the usual routine played out. Baby was changed, dressed and seated in his high chair for his usual breakfast – a spinach omelet and mixed fruit. He loves once loved spinach omelets and mixed fruit.
I watched in confused horror as his face twisted in anger. His hands rounded into fists as he began to pound on his high chair, “Nooooooo!” His screams echoed throughout the house, shaking picture frames and causing the dogs to flee to my bedroom.
I tried the airplane trick. I tried pretending to take a bite first. I tried distracting him then shoving it into his unsuspecting mouth. (That last effort got me the saddest, most profoundly betrayed look I’ve ever received from my son.)
I gave in, and he ate toast and cheese for breakfast.
Sometimes I think it’s punishment for the sins of my youth: the consequences of all of those broken curfews are manifested in my toddler’s hate for all things green and not related to bread. This too, shall pass, I tell myself, an echo of words uttered by every mother ever, as I rock back and forth in my computer chair eating Girl Scout Cookies. Here’s to hoping a child can survive on bread alone—and the occasional Thin Mint.
Carrie Taylor is a native Texan and mother of one.