Where does she get this stuff?
Last night was part of an ongoing losing series called “Feeding Audrey.” The girl lives on air, and honestly, it really worries me. Actually, I was more worried until I found out a couple of weeks ago (at the doctor’s office for what turned out to be a not-UTI, thank God) that she’s actually in the 25th percentile, which is small, but not tiny enough to elicit concern on the doctor’s part. Still, she’s small enough that I worry about it daily. Or at least, I’m aware/mindful/concerned about her weight; I don’t know if “worry” is quite the right word.
Anyways, I’m concerned enough that I give daily vitamins and calcium supplements to both Wesley and her (my two children on dairy-free, gluten-free diets due to celiac disease and dairy allergy), hoping that will make up for whatever they’re lacking in their diets. Wes used to be a sparing eater, too, but over the last six months, he’s been eating like a cow, having seconds and even thirds at mealtime, sort of like an extended growth spurt, or making up for lost time. He’s spent his life (post-celiac diagnosis) on the 50th percentile, so I’ve been less concerned for him, but still… it feels strangely reassuring that he’s eating.
After last night’s meal, which was yet another dinner that consisted of Audrey consuming a grand total of three bites, I was frustrated — almost angry. However, I investigated my feelings a bit and discovered that I wasn’t really mad at my daughter for not eating, I’m just… concerned for her growth, development, and general health. So, I decided to manipulate her appeal to her emotions.
After being the mother to only boys for nearly nine years before Audrey was born, it continues to amaze me that she actually cares for my feelings; she is genuinely concerned when things are not right with me, whether I’m sick or sad or whatever. So, I told her, “Audrey, it makes me sad that you don’t eat your dinner. You need healthy food to grow healthy and strong. If you don’t eat healthy food, you will become weak and sick.”
Gazing into my eyes, Audrey responded with chipper hopefulness, reassuring me, “But, Mama, vitamins and calcium does the trick!”
“DOES THE TRICK”??? Where does she get this stuff? She’s two and a half years old. Two and a half! We met a two-and-a-half-year-old at a restaurant yesterday who couldn’t even say her name. And, here’s Audrey, holding full conversations with me, demonstrating some serious higher reasoning.
I laughed and laughed. And shook my head. She’s the epitome of precocious.