A few weeks ago Big Dog crashed early. He'd had a cranky day at preschool, was picking fights with his brother and had just had a major crying meltdown, so it wasn't a bad thing. He fell asleep at 6 pm and slept right through to morning.
When he woke up, he climbed in bed with me and proceeded to do everything possible to make me not continue to sleep. Doesn't he know I'm on vacation? I guess not. Finally at 7 am he asks "Mama, can we get up?" and I comply because I know nothing I say or do will keep him from poking and prodding me until I do.
I stumble to the kitchen and put on the water for coffee. Then I start preparing his breakfast. He's hungry. Like the wolf, as Simon LeBon would say. He'd slept through dinner and I had some cooking to do.
At some point during my cooking he looks at me and says, "Hi jelly belly!"
WTF? Jelly belly? He smiles sweetly and says, "I called you jelly belly because your tummy is so big! But I still love you."
Thanks kid. Guess you thought I needed a bit more motivation for this freakin' diet.
Anyhow a few weeks have passed and apparently I've made some progress. Now on occasion he'll sneak up and pat my stomach, look up at me approvingly and say, "Your tummy is getting smaller, mama!" Little Dog has picked up the new ritual. Unfortunately he frequently pats my boobs instead. Sadly, he's right. They're getting smaller too.
Pasta ala Fridge
5 years ago