Every morning TJ and I are awake first so I make breakfast for the both of us. Somehow these two plates turn into one large meal for him, as he devours his scrambled eggs and then yells, “HEY!!” as I try to bite into the food I cooked for myself. So I empty my plate onto his and ask, “Happy now, sir?!?”
I have to eat with my back to him, but even then he has an idea that I’m enjoying food without him. No wonder why I’m so hungry as I run out the door, my breakfast is just a few spoonfuls I’ve smuggled away from this diapered thief.
Nathan doesn’t care if I have a bite of his food. He’s territorial about popsicles and slurpees. If I ask for a sip, he will hold the straw to my lips, but pinch it shut. He’ll yell, “I said that’s enough!” then rip it from my mouth, so I don’t even have a chance to taste the cherry-blueberry sugary mess, just breathe in the slurpee air he’s generously rationed to the woman who gave him life.
It’s never enough for me. But I’m down two pounds this week, so there’s a million-dollar diet plan: GREEDY KIDS WHO JACK YOUR FOOD. Would you buy my book? I have two co-authors who want credit.