DB1 has an eating disorder.
Its name is Fussyexia Toddlerosa, or more commonly, gobby 2 year old stubbornness regarding consuming food. DB1 has had the tendency towards this condition for some time now, from those early days of weaning when he would literally hurl his plate at the wall rather than eat his pureed strawberries, to days of opting to paint himself and the surrounding environment with fromage frais rather than putting it in his mouth.
And now, we’ve arrived at the sneaky stage of the condition. You see, DB1 fondly likes to imagine that, because he has the intelligence of a 2 year old, that his 30 year old mother must do also. Hence he seems to believe that by placing the food a millimetre or so from his open mouth and saying ‘yum’ really loudly, (before dropping the food into his lap) that I will be convinced that he’s consumed it.
I have endured this performance for a while now. Mummy has officially become tired of picking whole meals off the floor, where they’ve been discarded. And will confess that today was the day I officially LOST PATIENCE.
After the fourth round of exaggerated ‘yums’, I simply threw down the dish cloth (I was washing up at the time) and bellowed at him to just ‘EAT THE SODDING TART!’. I should explain, I had just spent half an hour rustling up these really quite tasty cheese and sweetcorn tarts (See! Cheese and sweetcorn! It’s not exactly like it’s a vindaloo and aduki bean tart! He LIKES cheese! He LIKES sweetcorn!), not to mention, had had an estate agent round to take photos of the house, so lots of frantic cleaning and concealing of toys etc. So I was fairly stressed.
This, of course, produced floods of outraged tears, as though to protest at the sheer audacity of mummy not believing his virtuoso performance unquestioningly. Or at least appreciating it. Seriously, in his little cross, put out face, I could almost see the thought etched across it, as clear as day, of ‘I can see I’m wasted here with these imbeciles’.
This made me crosser, I must admit. I told him his lack of eating was ‘facile’. (though reviewing this, in hindsight, it was probably a phrase that lacked a bit of clarity with a 2 year old.) I then marched him to bed with him howling all the way. (it was his nap time anyway, i should add. I’m not some Dickensian school maarm, honestly.)
DB2 decided to join the cacophony of screams at this point too. It was a bit like being trapped in a cage with a flock of miffed lorikeets. Deafening screechy noises that threaten to perforate the ear drums. In fact, I think DB2 was trying to do just that, as he did have his sharp little nail in my earhole as he flailed about on my shoulder.
Sigh. All this on top of the sheer mountain of work I need to do for the business. I have a pile of samples to be ironed that is roughly the height of Kilimanjaro, not to mention the next two loads waiting at BPs house for me tomorrow. I could get on with it now, if DB2 fancied sleeping. Which he doesn’t, in case you were wondering. He is refusing sleep, as per usual, despite only having had twenty minutes in the morning.
So, two sons who don’t like sleep, one who doesn’t like food.
Bring it on.