So this is it. The battlefield has been drawn. The trenches have been dug. The artillery is laid out in front of us. Both sets of eyes close to a mere slit, staring each other out. The wee man gives his best battle cry, a 'nanananannan'. I recite what I can remember of The St. Crispin Day speech from Henry V mixing it with other Shakespearian speeches because I can't remember any one in totality. Not to worry he'll never know, I still sound ace. So we are ready. I send in a volley of rice cakes but his defences are tight. One of the rice cakes comes straight back at me taking me unaware. I try to outflank him but the wee man is a smart bugger and turns his head quickly to the other side. I try the usual defence breaker of toast but I am rebuffed! I try to be sneaky and get him to eat it himself but no he picks it up and throws it to the floor gleefully. The carpet begins to fill with fallen troops. He is very stubborn. I wonder where he gets that from. So we have a stalemate. And this stalemate lasts all afternoon and then into the evening. Until this morning when I brought the big guns in and he ate his porridge and toast. Just. Victory this morning is mine, victory is mine!
Children are pretty smart and they know it. Working not on logic just on self preservation. However this can also be their downfall. If he would just open his mouth and eat, it would all be over much quicker and we would all be happy and there would be no tears and we can all go and play with our mega blocks. My tactics have had to change as independence in the little man has developed. He used to be great with food, eating everything that came across his mouth and The Chancellor had done a brilliant job weaning him before her return to work.
I wonder if it's what I'm giving him. He sometimes has a look on his face that says, 'Really this again?' I feel only slightly bad as I sit with bacon sandwich and then a cookie. 'Sorry son you are too wee for this.' He probably isn't it's just it's mine and I don't want to share. On to the next battle.