Of all the things I have to deal with in parenting–the temper tantrums, dirty diapers, unflushed toilets, runny noses–the thing that irritates me is messy faces. Child Harbat never had too much of an issue with this and learned to eat in a fairly clean way early, though she occasionally dips her hair in yogurt or is unaware of chocolate smeared on her cheek. But The Boy, aka Number Two, he has a complete disregard for anything on his face, from grape-sized globs of food to liquid running down his chin. I mean, just LOOK at this:
Either this is the cover shot for a new Chucky/Vampire movie franchise or Number Two doesn’t know how to eat a popsicle. Does he care if he’s holding a popsicle in his chubby little hand and it is dripping down his wrist, into his sleeve, through his shirt, and in a steady drip out the bottom hem of his shirt onto his foot? Does he care that he’s lifting a spoon of milk to his mouth, dumping the entire thing on his chest, and getting an unsatisfying empty spoon to his mouth? Is he bothered that he’s sitting on a raft of penne and marinara sauce that he’s dropped into his booster seat? Does he realize it’s easier to eat a cookie from the narrow side, not top down? Of COURSE NOT.
Writer, architect, father, husband.