Yesterday I learned that the red stains on Little L’s shirt weren’t tomato sauce as I’d first assumed, but ketchup. Ketchup. Ewwwww.
I have a bit of an issue with ketchup. As in, I hate the stuff with a passion. Dunking french fries in ketchup? Disgusting (Why would you do that when luscious mayo tastes so much better?). Dousing meatloaf in ketchup? Evil. Seriously, I won’t even kiss M after he eats some.
C, who clearly shares her mother’s good taste, can’t abhor the stuff. She’ll howl if anyone brings any even close to her plate. So it wasn’t so crazy for me to assume that Little L would follow in our footsteps and also shun the sweet (pretend) tomato sauce. But, nooo, apparently my youngest child takes after her father’s palette. Blergh.
It took me a while, (and I might have made Little L cry* when I told her that I now had to disown her, but it was OK, because her daddy would now love her twice as much as before) but I think I have finally come to grips with the fact that the ketchup shunners will not outnumber the ketchup eaters in our family. And I’ve also accepted the fact that maybe this is a good way to get Little L to eat a little more.
Which is how we come to tonight. Because today I figured that if Little L was amenable to dipping fries in ketchup, maybe she’d be willing to try dipping other foods in other dips, and yes, maybe we could lure her back to our side of the ketchup fence. So I let her dip her chicken nugget in honey (my sauce of choice – don’t knock it ’til you try it). She took a tentative bite and at first she seemed to like it. And then she made a face, and another face, and gagged a little, then gagged a lot, and then she started throwing up. A lot. Everywhere. Like a fountain. A never ending fountain of yuck.
Of course we had come in M’s brand new car. The one that doesn’t have diapers, wipes, changes of clothes, or the massive layer of discarded clothes that litter the bottom of my car. Which left us with exactly nothing. Or rather, a disgusting baby and nothing to clean her with or to change her into.
I picked her up at arms length and went to see if I could find a miracle in the McDonald’s bathroom. And I didn’t. Want to know what I found instead? McDonald’s is now saving money by not stocking paper towels! How nice for them. How impractical for moms of babies coated in ick.
I stripped Little L and resisted the urge to chuck her clothes. I gave her an impromptu bath in the sink and tried to dry her off under the hand blowers. (She was not a fan.) I dressed her in my sweater. Then we went back to our table, where I let her eat fries dipped in ketchup, because I know when I’ve lost and I’m nothing if not able to admit defeat gracefully.
*note to self: 17 and a half month old babies understand way more than you give them credit for.
Original It’s my life… post.
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