Sigh. I remember when it was just me, sitting in front of the TV eating cereal, or whatever my sister made me, back in my youth. So nice and chill. Then it was Troy and I, making a nice dinner, having wine and again, chilling in front of the TV, or on our condo balcony, overlooking the lovely city. Now I have to say that I DREAD dinner time with a loathing I can’t describe. It started with Finn as a baby, screaming every meal time so that I had to shove food in my mouth over the sink if I wanted to eat. Then he got older and decided he wasn’t into eating. Period. We would sit with him and if we didn’t shove it into his throat, he just wouldn’t eat. He would sit there for hours, telling us he hated whatever was in front of him and then eat it and be like – ohhh I love that!
Then we said screw it and he was left to eat or not eat which he sometimes does, and sometimes does not. I’m not worried over him anymore, whatevs. Now it’s Wren. Wren the beast. Wren the shit pump.
Wren who loves to sit and yell at me for an hour throwing food at the dog, hitting spoons of food so they flail against my shirt/wall/poor Clifford again. I’ve had enough. I’m boycotting eating altogether unless I am utterly alone.
Troy is the lucky duck who misses meal time every day until the weekend where I see him work himself into a hot mess with stress over feeding these animals. I deal with it daily and I think at this point I’ve failed utterly. Thankfully Finn prefers broccoli over hotdogs, and Wren loves fruit but won’t eat anything else resulting in a HUGE diaper rash right now which is making her turn into Kong on a bad day.
Last night after I got both kids to bed I sat down at 8pm and realized hmmm what a lovely dinner I had tonight, holding Wren in one arm, crying, trying to saw a piece of chicken with my fork in the other and a few random veg’s I could score in between Finn saying my name a hundred times, asking a million questions while Wren hit me with snotty fingers in the face.
It’s to the point that now I associate eating with evilness. I don’t enjoy it, it is a means to end hunger and rarely do I like doing it. I know some day it will change and the kids will gladly sit in peace on the couch with a hamburger and leave me alone. But right now, don’t call me between 4 & 8 because I am in hell. Rant over. Whew.