One of the most interesting aspects of being a chef with atoddler is that he flat-out refuses to eat any food that I have had a hand in preparing. It’s a novel thing,really, given that most people are more than happy to come into my house andgobble anything that I set in front of them, including (sometimes) crayons and/or napkins. The expectation to provide delicious, balanced food has been replaced entirely with naked scorn at my attempts. Once I even caved and tried to feed the little man an organic version of, basically, EZMac. He cried actual tears. Which would have been a pleasing recognition of genetic opposition to boxed mac n’ chee, except that he provides the same reaction when I put homemade pot pie on his little plastic Ikea plate.
Seriously, kid. Why?
I try not to worry too much, since he’s tracking on the growth charts pretty steadily. Pretty steadily, that is, for a child in the 3-5th percentilefor weight. And the 5-10thpercentile for height. My child is TINY. He’s almost 19 months, andtoday I had the gall to put him in some of his 18 month clothes, because I haven’t done laundry recently enough for his 12 month stuff to be anoption. He looks really stylishand appropriately dressed, provided his preschool activity for the day will be“making a rap video.” His pants are rolled at both the waist, like a high school cheerleader trying to shorten her skirt, and at the cuffs, like a short kid trying to wear normal kid pants.
I am 5’9. Hisdad is 6’0. My dad was 6’4. Chris’s dad is 6’2. There is no reason for him to be so little.
Except maybe that I drank sugar-free red bull when I was pregnant. And I ran a half marathon when I was pregnant. And I restricted weight gain to 25 lbs when I was pregnant. And I induced two weeks early just because I FELT LIKE IT. Any of those things could be blamed for both why he is little, and why I am obviously a terrible mother and human being.
Or, I can blame genetics. Chris was 4’11 and under 90 lbs when he graduated high school. His dad was growth restricted until college. Chris entered the Air Force Academy for college at 5’1, and had to report daily toeat a power bar in front of his superiors for extra nutrition. And then in a couple of painful,growing years, he shot up to a broad-shouldered, 6 foot tall man. By that point, he was 21 years old.
So I guess it’s not so much a matter of fighting Emmett’s weird little toddler food aversions (yesterday, Larabars were EXCELLENT. Today, Larabars are BABY POISON), but more a matter of just accepting that he’s going to be this perfectly formed, adorable miniature until well into college. That I get to pretend he’s a baby for way longer. That he’ll fit into my lap for cuddles well after the age that it becomes creepy and inappropriate. That he’s going to have shitty luck getting attention from women until his twenties. Which I’m okay with. It happened to his dad, and all it meant was that he had adequate time to finish medical school before women started distracting him from his studies with their boobs and their swingy hair and their vagina hypnotism.
Tiny little dude in his giant 18 month old pants is ready togo to preschool now. I’m going totake him, cuddled up like a baby, because I can. And when I pick him up, and they tell me that he refused toeat a single bite of his lunch, I’m going to probably let him pick some chocolate chips out of his trail mix, because chocolate has fat, and I’m a sucker, and he currently will only eat chocolate and yogurt.
|Totally staged. Like he would ever eat food.|
Parenting is awesome.