Orzo I’ve Been Told…

Kids are really bizarre.  There often seems to be little rhyme or reason for some of their behaviors or likes/dislikes at any given time.  I still can’t figure out how during one meal bananas (or eggs, or French fries, or chicken nuggets, or…) are manna from heaven and the next the equivalent of buffalo intestine (the nasty bit at the end).  While being a bit bewildering, it also makes meal times rather adventuresome, as more than once I’ve had to totally scrap the planned repast (mini cheeseburger, fruit, and milk) and scramble to throw something else at her before she tries to Spiderman out of her high chair.  This is when you shove a piece of plain bread at your child and are grateful that it is acceptable.  You feel like a lousy parent for giving your kid bread for lunch but at least she’s eating (and it is whole wheat….yeah, sure, whatever you have to tell yourself).  The next day/meal, she will forego her Chef Boy-R-Dee spaghetti in favor of your orzo pasta tossed with shallots, mushrooms, Romano cheese, and truffle oil (true story).  I know many grown-ups that would scoff at that.

It’s also “all bets off” for some scenarios.  For instance, I’ve watched he pratfall accompanied by the loudest thump or crash and I just cringed, waiting for the wailing to commence, only to watch her pop right up and carry on.  One night she was sleeping in bed with me and rolled off (yeah, I felt awful and it scared the bejeezus out of me).  I just knew she had broken a rib or concussed herself.  She did scream for about 45 seconds and then fell right back to sleep.  Hell, I would have cried longer than that.  Recently I dug a splinter the size of a redwood out of her leg and she only griped because I was holding her still.  This splinter (or rather, chunk of wood) would have made grown men want to throw up.  But then you’ll see her very lightly bump her arm on the couch and a total meltdown will ensue.  Or a diaper change will become a battle royale, with screaming and sobbing consistent with being drawn and quartered.  It just doesn’t make sense.

Recently baths became unacceptable.  It only lasted a few days (thankfully), but for whatever reason, she refused to be bathed.  On one occasion, I even climbed in with her (she had koala-ed me to the extent that my clothing was soaked, so I figured what the hell?) and it still didn’t help.  She has always loved bath time; the only hiccup we’ve ever had was during a particularly nasty bout of diaper rash, she was reluctant to sit down.  Understandable.  This was something different.  And then *poof!* baths were wonderful again.

No one warns you that as a parent you’ll have to become a master of thinking outside of the box and adjusting and adapting to mind-blowing changes in a matter of milliseconds.

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About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
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