Saturday, August 6, 2011

My SuperPower


Boombah is nearly 3, and at the end of the day (with no day nap) he's tired and cranky and a little contrary. I gave him a previously-agreed-on toasted cheese sandwich for dinner. As he took the plate, he spied the cupcakes on the bench.

And promptly handed back the sandwich.
"No sandwich - cake" he said

"Sandwich first, then cake" I replied

"No sandwich. Cake!" he demanded and tried to reach for a cupcake.
And so we began the debate over the relative benefits of a cupcake, compared to a nutritional advantage of a toasted sandwich.

Every time he insisted on "No sandwich, cake!" he stretched and reached a little further across the bench. And every time I responded with "Sandwich, then cupcake" he stopped stretching in exasperation and acknowledged me with a withering glance.

Until finally his stretching paid off, and his little fingers laid themselves upon the lone cupcake sitting within reach on the bench. His grasp closed around it and he smirked cheekily at me.
"No sandwich. Cake" he assured me, in that tone only a smug toddler who just "won" can perfect.

He licked the icing, while I started arguing and cajoling with enthusiasm in the background of his chocolate heaven haze.
"Mmmmm Boombah's cake" he muttered and walked off.

"Boombah, if you eat that cake, there's no dessert tonight. Sandwich, then cake."
"Boom's cake"
Another lick.

If you eat the cake Boombah, there's no chocolate milk either". I had pulled out the big guns now. I was getting desperate. I was fast approaching the need to either let him go, or instigate the wrangle-the-toddler-to-the-ground-and-forcibly-remove-the-offending-item maneuvre. And without a strong cuppa tea and a few moments on Facebook I was unable to decide which way to go.

"Boombah's cake".
More licking and pretty much complete oblivion to the outside world now. He had cake. For dinner. The world may have imploded upon itself and he would not know nor care.
Cake. For dinner.

"Boom, do you want gulky tonight?" I asked
And I was rewarded with a brief expression of recognition of the magic word.
"Gulky" is his term for breastmilk.

I repeated the question and he slowed his sugar-inhalation to look at me, I assume to ensure I am seriously placing the weight of this dilemna upon his weak and inexperienced shoulders.

"If you want gulky Boom, you need to have the sandwich. Then the cake. Then gulky.
No sandwich, no gulky."
And for good measure I did my top-lifting, boob-extending, but-totally-appropriate-for-a-toddler jiggly dance in his direction.

Except he was not there. He was already running to the kitchen to place the cupcake on the bench, and take his sandwich to the table for eating.

So how's that?! My breastmilk is better than chocolate, apparently!!