Breakfast Dramas
We have a fairly basic breakfast routine. I’m in charge of getting Little Miss fed and dressed, while her Daddy gets himself ready for work and makes her lunch. It’s a fair division of labours, and I love that making her lunch is one thing I never have to think about.
But, but, but… it’s getting harder. Breakfast isn’t too bad. She always has the same thing - one Vita Brit (a healthier version of Weetabix), crumbled up with cold milk and sultanas. When she was smaller, she used to stand in the kitchen and boss me about as to the stages. “Bikkit. Tanas. Milk. Spooooon!” (as if I might have forgotten any of the essential stages - though I have to say, I have on occasion forgotten to give her a spoon)
This morning when I told her that the cereal was ready, she ran towards it saying, “Issere milk in it?” Which kind of knocked my socks off, as such a complete sentence!
Anyway, she doesn’t make too much mess, as long as I remember to put a bunny rug under her table to catch the drips & wet sultanas (and at dinner time, rice - my gosh rice glues itself to carpet!!).
It’s the getting dressed that’s a problem. I give her choices (but not too many), I try to make it fun, and I offer proper incentives (mainly emphasising how much fun she has a daycare, and how she needs to be dressed in order to go).
And, to be fair, she does get dressed, every morning, without fail.
But the bits in between are pretty horrid - screaming, giggling, running away, point blank refusal, wriggling, wailing. It’s getting worse all the time. Little Miss is very definitely almost two-years-old.
It’s not bad enough that I want to trade it for making the sandwich. But it’s getting there…
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