Share and share alike

Written by: Suzanna Palmer

Around the Palmer house lately, we have started learning some good old-fashioned life lessons. You know–the ones that aren’t so much fun to learn but are necessary for living a normal, well-adjusted life. (Or, so I hear.)

The most recent lesson we have been working on ‘round here is sharing. And, I’m happy to say that I’m showing marked progress in the matter. Just ask Jacob.

For the past few weeks, my content little boy has turned into Mr. Grabby Hands anytime food comes within a 12-foot radius. He used to be happy eating peas, carrots, roast chicken and whatever bland baby food fare I offered him at mealtime, but those good ol’ days are gone for good.

He has smartened up and realized the gastro-culinary errors of his ways and insists on eating what we’re having. Waffles for breakfast, Mexican food for lunch, salmon for dinner, he wants it all.

Of course, he never badgers Tom to share. His cries are always directed at me. Something about me being Mama Cow for six months, I think. Or, maybe the Powers That Be knew I had a life lesson or two I still needed to learn.

Either way, it’s not been an easy lesson. When it comes to sharing food, I’m a lot like a mother bear protecting her cubs. Or a vulture hovering over fresh road kill. Or, a fat kid and cake.

Whatever analogy you want to use, the bottom line is this: me, food, and sharing do not a happy combination make. (And, by the way, making him the same meal of his own doesn’t work. He only wants whatever I have. The food is always tastier on the other plate, I guess.)

But, with every meal that passes, I am learning to more easily fork over (literally) whatever delicious thing is on my plate.

Plus, I have to admit, there is a positive side to sharing half of my meals with my munchkin: I’m getting half the calories, which would explain the pound or two I’ve dropped over the last weeks.

And, who knows, this could be the key to a successful weight loss business. I could call it “Rent My Munchkin,” and let him be Mr. Grabby Hands to someone else. But, only at meal time, of course.

Posted in Adventures in Motherhood, Blogs, imported