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| Terrible picture but I think it captures the moment rather well... |
Fletch will sit in his high chair for all of about six seconds before the performance starts. Everything and anything that is put in front of him gets picked up, looked at and thrown aggressively onto the floor. I actually just went to open the balcony door mid-writing this, looked down and found two menacing blueberries perched on the floor. Exhibit f'ing A. Anything I attempt to put is his mouth gets blatantly refused. Scrambled eggs, porridge, pureed fruit, pieces of fruit, vegetables, fish, chicken, toast. Bloody everything. Except yoghurt. Yoghurt he will eat. The only thing he will eat.
He has perfected the pouty head turn. The tantrum head smack against the table. The slam of the spoon. And even a 9-month-old-version of talk-to-the-hand. Just so he's sure I get the picture....Don't worry sweetheart. I GET IT.
Next he decides he's had enough of the high chair and in fact he would like to sit on the table. Which of course I don't object to if it means getting another spoonful of food into his mouth. But as usual, sitting on the table entertains him for all of five fucking seconds before he's had enough of that too. I have toys, spoons, TV remotes and the like at his disposal as some pitiful attempt at distraction. But of course, they all end up on the fucking floor. Of course they do. He'll occasionally dive head first back into his high chair or head first for the floor. At which point he'll find an unsuspecting blueberry and decide that ok, I'll give it a crack now. No hang on, it'll be more fun if I slam it into the floor.
Usually he'll then go for whatever I've got. Today it was my water from my water glass. His water bottle clearly didn't cut it, because of course my fucking water tastes better. So again, I don't object. As long as it goes down and stays down. And it does for the first few sips and then he gets overexcited and takes too big a gulp which ends up in him choking on his water, going red in the face, watery eyes, followed by a giant sized vomit containing everything I've just painstakingly attempted to fucking get into him.
He looks up at me with vomit all over his clothes, snot coming out of his mouth and a massive grin on his face. And all is forgiven. Somehow the frustration of the past half an hour disappears and all I see is my beautiful boy. And me, covered in vomit. I breathe a sigh of relief that it's over.
Until lunch, when we do it all again....
Shoot me now.
ps. Soz about all the swearing. Frustration levels were clearly high post vom this morning...
