|The Joker, Courtesy of DC Universe|
I had just come home from a long day at work. I was tired. I was cranky. I was hungry, but my wife and I passed each other at the door as she was on her way out to meet a friend for dinner. "She's all yours," she said, kissing me on the cheek before slamming the door shut. "Don't forget to feed her...," she screamed from the safety of the driveway. "Good luck! She's in a bad mood." And there I was, alone, face to face with the only person in the world who could make my mood look chipper- my 18-month-old daughter; the worst eater in babyland. Things were about to get ugly.
"D.D.? You want to eat?" I asked? "No!" she said emphatically, her head buried in a pile of books she had yanked from the shelves. "That's great," I said, "'cause Daddy's tired, and he's going to feed you now!" It's not the kicking, or the screaming, or even the wailing that I mind - it's the indecision that really gets to me? One would think an 18-month-old would have a clue as to what she liked, after all it's not like Miss Picky has the most varied diet, but every night we go through the same thing: I open the fridge and I give her her options...
"Fried Rice with Peas, Carrots and leftover Turkey?"
"Eggs and fingers (toast)?"
She thinks about it: "No!"
"Fruit Salad it is!"
Now, maybe it's just me, but I always thought I'd have to force my kid to eat fruit. But every day we seem to go through a pint of blueberries, a jar of tangerines, and at least a handful of plums. Problem is that's all my kid eats. And I don't know if you've ever cleaned the diaper of a kid that lives on blueberries, but it's not the sweet smelling bouquet you might imagine it to be. They're also messy, and just the right size for my little girl to fling across the room where they get lost under furniture, but found by every bug that makes their way in to the slowly cracking foundation of my circa 1950's style home. And, when she's not in the mood to eat, it's a free for all.
So finally, when her plate was cleared, and she fully packed away her second helping of dessert, I had to ask her: "D.D.? Why did you eat for Daddy?" She stuffed one more morsel in to her mouth, chewed it, swallowed it, took a sip of water, and looked a me with a big smile and said: "Dadd-ee Fah-nee!"
I accept that.
Good Fellas, Movie Clip: "Funny, how?"(click)
Note: Rated R for Language and feeling of impending violence.