Today at dinnertime Billy waited patiently in his high chair for the mysterious food cooking in the pot on the stove. I had given him a plastic cup, cheerios, milk and a BeepBeep to keep him occupied. He gladly filled the cup with cheerios and then dumped it. Then repeated, remembering to shove a few in his mouth along the way.
Finally, the food was ready and boy, was it worth the wait. Out came a steaming, tasty bowl of...spaghetti!
I sat it down in front of him with a fork and a spoon. He immediately dug right in. First with the spoon, then with his hand.
"Hot!" he cautioned. Nope. Not hot. Warm.
He went back to the spaghetti, studying it carefully. It's not so easy to eat. It won't stick to plastic and it's squirmy in your hands. He tried several methods to get the spaghetti into his mouth.
"Momma," he said, handing me the fork. Meaning, "Mommy, you do it."
I fed him a few spoonfuls and then handed the fork back to him. He tried a few more times, gave up and went back to eating with his hands. Now, I'm sure you're saying to yourself, "toddlers love to eat with their hands." True. He loves his edible finger paint (aka yogurt). Anything fried is awesome. But spaghetti is slippery, slimy and ooey-gooey red. He didn't want it on his hands.
"Momma," he asked, handing the fork back to me. So I fed him the rest of his bowl.
I suppose you could ask him why he wanted my help, when he normally refuses my help with feeding. Maybe it's the texture. Maybe he was so hungry that he didn't want to work for it. Maybe Mommy does it best. I'd like to think that my little boy wanted Mommy's help just because. But if I actually asked him, I imagine the only thing he would say is, "hot." And you guess is as good as mine as to what that means over a bowl of tepid spaghetti.