A serious battle

of wills just took place. Me versus Tabitha.

Here's the thing. Tabitha is not a good eater. If you looked at her you would disagree, as she is my Botticelli cherub with Reubenesque features, yet she doesn't eat much at all. Lexi on the other hand would eat the equivalent of an adult male. Every day. Without fail. And doesn't put on a gram. She, like her father, is built somewhat like a bean. Not a broad bean, a string bean. Tabitha's the broad bean.

Anyway, Tabitha is very fussy with her food (again opposite to Lexi who would eat leather if it had sauce on it). Consequently she picks and pokes and often times just simply doesn't eat. There is not a huge amount that I can do about it. I have tried repeatedly beating myself up about it but funnily enough that doesn't actually achieve anything, so I settle for if she has a couple of mouthfuls every now and then (that I have stealthily hidden vegetables in) then we're in front.

Tonight I wasn't going to budge. As soon as she got in the car tonight she asked for a bottle. I said to her that she needed to eat some dinner first and then after dinner she could have a bottle. She kept asking. Over and over. Like a skipping CD (notice how I have replaced the broken record saying with skipping CD...I'm so with the times...) she asked over and over and over, and every time I had the same answer. So when we got home I made the girls dinner (Lexi's request of scrambled eggs, nothing flash, and I was happy to oblige because it's quick and easy and a nice little protein hit for them). I got them both a drink and sat them down at the table with a little fork each, tiny squirt of tomato sauce (nice little potassium booster there) and Robert's your father's brother (or Bob's your uncle), dinner is served.

But no. Tabitha did not want dinner. She wanted a bottle. She obviously really wanted a bottle. I mean really. Vocally. And so when I reiterated that which I had said earlier, which was "no", she proceeded to throw herself onto the ground screaming. Oh. Kay. As you do. So I let her. And I repeated "you can have a bottle after you eat dinner". She screamed. Bloodcurdling. Then "I WANT A BOTTLE". Hmmm. Firstly, no please. Big no no for mummy manners stickler. Secondly, um, no. Not when you ask like that in that tone. And thirdly, yep, nope, you didn't eat your dinner.

So we continued on. And the squealing commenced, interspersed with screaming, crying, sobbing, throwing herself on the ground, stamping feet, pummeling fists, crying, sobbing, screaming, yelling. You get the gist. This went on for some time. After about five or six minutes I weakened ever so slightly. One bite of dinner. That's all. Then she could have a bottle. Ah and then the screaming got louder. I told her it was very simple - one bite of dinner and she could have a bottle. To and fro, to and fro, to and fro.

And then it happened. She settled down. We made eye contact. No words were spoken. And she stood up and walked over to the table and looked at her plate. I pretended not to watch, and was talking to Lexi about the starfish she was playing with. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tabitha climb up onto her seat, sit, look around, and gingerly pick up a piece of egg and pop it into her mouth. And she didn't just have one bite, she sat there and ate the whole plate.

And my god I feel like I won the bloody lottery.

Mum - 1. Tabitha - 0. But she ate dinner. I still can't believe it. Senbloodysational.

And that really takes precedence over everything else that happened. Takes precedence over the fact that I got a good schlack of one of my essays done. Takes precedence over the fact that I had to have the "don't put sand down your nappy" talk with Lexi. It really just made my day.

Smiling smiling. It's the little things.