Cue the old western music …
Tonight at dinner you were not prepared to eat. You wanted milk and that’s just the way it was going to be. You pointed at the refrigerator. You tried to open the refrigirator door. You did everything in your power to get your milk, until finally we put you in your chair … but you weren’t happy about it.
Mommy, Brian and I had finished up, but you still refused to eat anything. We had brought out a can of corn for you to eat, but you weren’t interested at all. You yelled and you cried. Eventually you said (in between heavy sobs) “up!” … quietly, but emphatically. I answered ‘eat’. You said ‘up’ again, to which I replied ‘eat’. We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and continued on with the up-eat call-and-answer, almost as if we were in an old revival tent.
Finally, you pointed at the can of corn with the spoon in it, admitting that you’d be willing to try the corn. You fed yourself with the spoon, first from the can of corn and then from one of your plastic bowls because the level of corn in the can slowly dipped so that you couldn’t reach it. You eventually ate nearly 2/3rds of a can of corn and one spoonful of beans. Sometimes I’d feed you, other times I’d help you feed yourself, but mostly you would take the spoon, get some corn on it, and bring it to your mouth feeding yourself.
After you finished up your corn I offered you some milk and your eyes lit up. It was like Christmas in August.
Neither one of us really won the battle of wills. I would have liked you to eat more than corn, and you would have liked to have only had milk, but we compromised and work toward a solution that we could both live with. It was a good day.
2 Responses to “Battle of wills”
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