Last summer, K was too young to understand the concept of
ice cream. If it was just she and I running errands, I could stop by the DQ or
get some frozen yogurt, and she was blissfully content to watch as I spooned
creamy deliciousness into my mouth, none-the-wiser as to what she was missing.
I will admit that even in recent months, I have taken advantage of the fact
that her car seat is still rear facing and quietly consumed a frozen treat out
of her eyesight. (All mothers have done this at one time or another.) However,
this chapter is quickly coming to an end, replaced by a cry for “I kem! I kem!”
if we even pass within several yards of a Dairy Queen sign. (Maybe that’s a sign I should lay off the “I
kem.”)
A couple of nights ago, I was sharing a cup of chocolate and
peanut butter with her. I took a bite, and then spooned a bite into her mouth.
We went on like this for several minutes. A bite for Mommy. A bite for K. She
was really getting into the pattern and began opening her mouth as soon as I
had consumed my preliminary bite. As she was chewing a particularly large
spoonful, I took two bites in a row. She raised her tiny index finger, looked
at me from under scowling eyebrows, and screeched, “No Mommy!” Kind of like
this:
I think I’ll call it the
“I-HAVE-A-TODDLER-WHO-NOTICES-EVERYTHING-PLAN.” I’ll let you know how it works.
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