318. Of Babies and Bagels

Thomas loves bagels. I love muffins. I'm talking those huge, super-moist blueberry  beauties from Costco. So good. Because  we got both bagels and muffins this week that's what we've been eating for breakfast pretty much every day (Thursday's poptarts in the car because we woke up five minutes before we had to leave excluded) this week. Thomas has a bagel; I have a muffin; Janey switches back and forth (but mostly likes oatmeal).

 However, the last couple of mornings Thomas has asked, in his I'm-a-grouchy-18-month-old-who-can't-say-any-words way, for some of my muffin. He happily enjoys the pieces I give him along with his bagel. 

So being the thoughtful, loving mother that I am, this morning I put Thomas in his high chair and gave him a quarter of the last muffin. I guess that was very insulting. There was screaming and crying and twisting and throwing. He mostly wept angrily into the back of his chair. I gave him water: he threw it across the table. I tried removing the offensive breakfast: he snatched it away and cuddled it. When I backed off, he put it back on the table.

So after a couple of questions on my part and whines, grunts, and farts on his part, I got a bagel out of the fridge. He watched me cautiously, deciding whether I was a friend or fiend. As soon as I set the bagel down in front of him the crying stopped. He straightened out. He smiled. He picked up the muffin and ate it. 

Yes, the muffin.

It's a good thing I got a hot shower in before breakfast.