Sunday 10 January 2010

The plebs

Having endured nearly a month of being bitten during feeds, and then being laughed at when I yell out in pain, I reluctantly offered Dolly some follow-on milk a couple of days ago. Just the mere sight of the bottle full of milk made her almost hyper-ventilate with excitement. She grabbed the bottle from me and knocked it back in about 5 seconds flat. Despite this, I am still trying to hang on to the morning and bedtime feeds for dear life, reasoning that once her top teeth are through, this would probably be the time to admit defeat completely.

It is much the same with food. I take great pride in lovingly preparing good, organic, wholesome food for my girls, but Dolly will often turn her little nose up my culinary delights. And when, in desperation, I offer her a jar of chicken risotto, or spaghetti bolognese (or whatever, they all taste the same to me) she does her shrill Michael Jackson 'OOWW' impression and shovels it in with gusto.

So it seems I have a pleb baby on my hands, a baby who prefers the shop-bought processed option to the home-produced real thing. If I can salvage anything from this it's that one day she might be up for joining me in my occasional Frey Bentos pie and chips fests on a Saturday night in front of trash TV, whilst Tom and Betty are off somewhere eating smoked pumpkin seeds and discussing Fermat's last theorem.

11 comments:

Chic Mama said...

Ouch I know that biting stage well, they usually stop it after a while. My toddler refused any other milk and even now I've stopped feeding him still won't touch milk.

Iota said...

I say, better get used to it. My kids much prefer processed junk to my home-cooked stuff.

Your description of her MJ impression made me laugh. Rather more innocent than my 5 year old's one the other day. She thrust her hips forward and grabbed her crotch, and declared "I'm Michael Jackson". Where did she learn that?

Iota said...

I've tagged you at mine.

Metropolitan Mum said...

Dolly and little L are very much alike in that sense. Not only does she refuse homemade food, it's HIPP or nothing. No Organix, no Plum (or whatever they are called). Oh, and she could live on breadsticks alone.

Regarding the teeth and breastfeeding: I gave up about 6 weeks ago. Her seventh tooth is coming through at the moment. It just got too dangerous.

Cocoro said...

I feel your frustration. My little boy loves unhealthy snacks even though I am careful to prepare healthy Japanese meals for him. But this has only just really happened, maybe its when they hit 2?

Pig in the Kitchen said...

oh gawd, have you spawned a chav that will be obese and have type 2 Diabetes??! oh well, as long as she's happy. I asked my darling son what his favourite food is and he said 'pizza'. He then tried to redeem himself by saying, 'oh and those tofu sausages you buy'. Tsk.
Fray bentos and chips??! I hope you balance the plate on your boobs, I love doing that. (well, i balance it on my wonderbra)
Pigx

Beccers said...

Oh dear, you need to bring her round quick or she'll be wearing a tracksuit and going for a maccy d's next! Or maybe she'll refuse to eat anything apart from plain chicken til she's 18, develops a proper palate and will actually try things and eat vegetables (like me!).

I'm all about the smoked pumpkin seeds now... and Haribo of course.

Sparx said...

Gawds, I'm envious. The spud refused anything out of a jar (although did sock back the follow-on like we were about to have a global shortage) and is only just agreeing to tinned things like baked beans and spaghetti hoops to help out a lazy Mum in a pinch... enjoy it! Easy baby!

Unknown said...

I love the word pleb!
I kind of have the opposite problem - an 18mth old who won't give up the breast for any of the lovely juices on offer out there! I reckon I'll be feeding her when she goes to school...

It's a Mummys Life said...

In that case both my girls are plebs! The toddler quite likes my food now (I have literally had to force feed it to her) but the baby, forget it, give me Hipp mummy! LOL at MJ impression. x

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