It's almost Thanksgiving. That means food. Lots of food. Lots of food that Axel will throw on the floor. Instead of a lovely family meal lit by candelight, I'm picturing a highchair surrounded by bits of turkey and stuffing, with handfuls of yam stuck to the stainless steel fridge. This Thanksgiving, I'm grateful that I have a happy, healthy little boy who's getting in some early practice for food fights in the middle school cafeteria.
Axel's become very interested in testing gravity and developing his throwing arm. I'd estimate that 80% of food gets thrown on the floor, and 20% ends up in his belly. Our dog is delighted with this situation, even when he ends up with cheese maddeningly out of reach, clinging to his forehead. Axel is pretty adventurous when it comes to putting food in his mouth. Slap anything down on his highchair tray, and he'll try it. Then he'll spit it out, half chewed, smoosh it about on the tray, and imperiously fling it off the side. Next, he takes careful stock of what's on his tray, and begins chucking items over the side like he's a particularly ruthless pirate who demands almost all vegetables and meat walk the plank. Even his favorites now get this treatment - waffles, Puffins, risotto. Throw, throw, throw, take a messy bite, throw throw throw some more. Give him one of those little snack containers full of Cheerios, and he flings them out one by one, perhaps eating every fifth Cheerio.
Supposedly, Axel eats a lot at his childcare center. Often he eats two helpings of everything at lunch. I'm not sure if they've laced the food with some addictive chemical, a la Kentucky Fried Chicken, if he's just trying to impress the older women with his self-feeding skills, or if it's a peer pressure chow down. The kid's getting food someplace, so I'm not worried about him starving, even if he is under 20 lbs soaking wet.
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