Psycho Stuff

So why is it that I am so psycho when it comes to Max's eating? Why do I feel like tearing my hair out when he is just being a normal toddler and pushing boundaries, being independent, exerting control over me, the world and everything? I go mental, he goes mental. He doesn't eat. I eat the left-overs. Mealtime over. He gets skinny. I get fat. I am moody. Wife gets beaten up. Everyone is miserable. What's it all about?

First possibility - my milk didn't come in for him during the first week of his life, he got really skinny and we had to stuff him full of formula every ten seconds to make sure they didn't admit him to hospital and feed him with a drip. Guess there is a whole heap of guilt / unworthy mother / not a proper woman feelings linked to this experience (two whole years ago) that are still hanging around inside. I was such a militant 'breast is best' advocate and then when it didn't work, there was serious brow-beating. Felt really heart-breaking at the time and it's probably about time I got over it.

Second possibility - we spent so many years trying to get pregnant (4.5 actually) that, when Max eventually did come along, I had built up such an idealised image of motherhood, what sort of mother I would be (Birkenstock-donning, breast-feeding, sling-wearing, baby-massaging) and what sort of a child mine would be (co-sleeping, no-dummy-in-sight, early-talking, early-walking, bi-lingual, and most of all an unfussy foodie like me) that I couldn't help but be disappointed and disillusioned.

Third possibility - I just can't accept that toddlers eat not for enjoyment, fun, company, greed and sheer love of grub but for sustenance and as quickly as possible so they can go back to their toys and books and everything else that is just way more interesting than eating.

Sure there might be a bit more to it than that - sometimes feeling a bit lonely here with my, as yet, rather under-developed support network - but I guess that is the crux of it. Not so complicated really. Thanks to all my old school and Facebook chums for helping me see the light this time.

Oh, and thanks to my dearest wife for putting up with my moods. Can't guarantee there won't be more black cloud evenings but, for now, I feel as though I can deal with the times when my little monster chooses to throw my delicious dishes back in my face (fortunately, we have, provisionally, left behind the phase of literally having dinner thrown up the wall).

You've seen the pictures. The boy is big, tall and healthy. What IS my problem?