If this is the first time you are reading a post on this blog, let me introduce myself. I am Baby Hashtag. My mother publishes posts on this blog (whenever she is over her procrastination) but I take over the posting duties from time to time to give people an insight into my colourful world.
So last night I heard mumma tell papa over the phone that I was being a picky eater the entire day. To be fair, all that was offered to me was boring regular, everyday food. Where is the variety? If you know me enough, you would have guessed it that I like variations. I like to decide. I don’t like to be handed things. I would rather pick them.
So many times, I’ve made it pretty clear that I would like to decide for myself what I want.
If I had to list them, here goes:
So I have a play area. Or rather, I have a corner in our bedroom that has all my toys stacked up. I pull them all out, spread them all over the floor and that becomes my play area. Mumma would happily want that I get busy with any one toy for about 15 minutes so that she could sip on her chai in peace. You think I’d let that happen. No way. I need a solid half hour of pulling-pushing-lugging-assembling-breaking-reassembling all the toys I have in front of me only to realise that the one I want to play with is lying on the bed all along. While all the inspection happens, mumma HAS TO be seated beside me because I want her to. It’s not like there is anything else that is more important to her than me. Is there?
About that toy on the bed. If it’s on the bed, it needs to stay there while I play with it. It will not touch the floor, cos the floor is lava. And Yes, mumma sits with me on the bed as well. Because, I decided she would. Also the hot chai goes forgotten cos there will be no hot beverages near the toddler.
I’m a jumpy toddler, remember???
If a book has been picked out, it HAS BEEN PICKED OUT for a very specific reason. There are books that are read at mealtimes. Then there are books that are read in the car or during long journeys. And there are books that are read after meals. There is a system. And nobody, I mean nobody mess with the system. Introduction and acceptance of new books is subject to the size and content of the book. There’s no particular bracket or sorting system. I am the king. I decide. And it stays that way. Until the day I decide to change it.
3. Clothing and accessories
I did not really have any problem with clothes growing up. Mumma loves dressing me up and I’ve loved changing into different outfits. They would go up as high as five changes in a day. No complains against that. What pisses me off is the need to accessorise. A hairband or a hat or a hair clip or bow. Apparently something needs to be propped up on my head all the time. Nuh uh! Not gonna happen. I shall pull out every thing that comes in contact with my hair. That has been the order of things since I was 7 months old, it will continue to be like this for a lot of time to come.
If I don’t like it, there is no way in hell that I’m going to bite it. Mumma tried to force feed me a LOT when I started out with solids when I turned 6 months old. 2p days of me not downing any kind of food made her desperate and she turned to baby led weaning. Best. Decision. Ever. I’ve loved handling my own food, discovering my own likes and dislikes over the next few months. But then there was a bad bout of viral after my first birthday and we were back to being fed and it was boring food. I was older, I wanted more. After days of hinting to her that I wanted to self feed, mumma understood and we are back with me eating on my own. Not just that, I have a meal with more than one food item and I am loving the variation so far. It sings to the decision maker in me. It also helps mumma understand the kind of food that I enjoy eating more.
Ofcourse there are things I still have no say in: (I throw a tantrum everytime they happen, but I’m usually outwitted by a dsitraction)
1. Diaper changes:
There was a simpler time when Mumma used to put on a pant style diaper on me and that would take 5 second tops. Easy peasy. But ever since these cloth diapers have come in, I have to lie down EACH time it needs a change. I’m not complaining about the cloth diapers. They are the best. But this whole diaper changing business is irritating. The faster we potty train, the better.
2. Welcoming(?) strangers home:
I don’t get it why people come to my home. Different kinds of people. Some serious looking, some wanting to be friends with me, some offering to pick me up just for a few seconds. I don’t want to warm to people yet. I’m chill with the family around and a few regulars I see on a daily basis. But they are all out. No one comes home. And I cannot do any thing about it. So I cry. I wail when I see strangers come home. Everyone tries to shush me, they say it’s ‘disrespectful’. Imma gonna cry every opportunity I get or at least till I learn what ‘disrespectful’ means.
3. Going out
If it were up to me, I would be outdoors all the time. But no. Running out the door waving byeeee to everyone who’s seated in the drawing room is cute only to the point till I am acting. It I really make to go outside, the door will be shut and I have to pretend-cry to my room.
I’m still the master of most of my choices. And that’s pretty cool.
Let me tell you one thing I’ve learnt over time.
Being cute works better than throwing tantrums.