It IS a big deal!

Ash and I can’t remember what we used to do with our time before we had the boys.

Nowadays, it’s a strict routine. Up – breakfast; 12pm – lunch; 5pm – dinner; 5.45pm – bath; 6.30pm – bed.

Who would have guessed that having children didn’t actual mean that you would instantly qualify for a ‘yummy mummy’ title but instead, that your entire life would begin to revolve around meal times, and as such, your rapidly expanding waistline??

These days, the majority of our conversations go something like this;

-“What do you want for dinner?”
-“I don’t know, you decide.”

-“Toby just did a giant poo – did you see it?
-“No.”
-“Have a look.”
-“Ok.”

-“Are you ok?”
-“Yeh, just a bit tired.”

-“What do you want for lunch?”
-“I don’t know, you decide.”

-“Noah wet himself today.”
-“Oh dear. What’s for dinner?”

You get the general idea …

Food is such a big deal in our house. When we eat is a big factor. If we miss a meal time and feed the boys a little bit later, they’re hysterical. They’re also unlikely to eat their meals later in the day. To them, we are evil food holding monsters. If we’re early with a meal they’re even more hungry than normal. And that’s a lot. This means that snacks are a huge deal too.

We all have weird food habits.

Ash loves yoghurt. He would quite happily sit down to a 500g tub of Greek yoghurt with a few swirls or honey in it and eat it in one sitting. And then do the same later on that day as well.

Babu, in turn, is yoghurt obsessed.

We once went to a friends for lunch and he proceeded to eat his meal and then six – I repeat – SIX yoghurts in a row. And then he wanted more. Which we wouldn’t give him due to fear of vomitage, and, well, the other thing …

Ash will eat bread with anything. Take for example, the risotto we made the other night. A beautiful chicken and butternut squash risotto. Which he ended up eating with bread. Like a sandwich.

The boys have picked up this habit too. God forbid we give them a bowl of Spaghetti Bolognese and forget that oh so important slice of bread and butter.

I love fruit. Any fruit. I will eat and eat and eat and eat. There’s no stopping me. I can eat a punnet of grapes, a bag of Clementine’s and various other fruity goodies without batting an eyelid.

The boys have followed my lead in this area. They have blackberries as their treat. Cherries too. Raspberries, grapes, kiwi, banana; you name it, they eat it. Toby will eat an orange and a tub of blueberries before you can get a look in; Noah, the same.

I’m so glad my fridge isn’t down on the ground.

Their food habits got me thinking about my own.

I can only use certain spoons and forks to eat with. (In our house that is. I’m not some crazy weirdo who carries a set around inside her purse.) Knives, I’m not too fussed about. Unless they don’t match. My knives and forks always have to match – always. Who knows what will happen if they don’t? The food might not taste as good, I could get poisoned – the world may collapse. You don’t know.

This is my dads fault. He’s particular too. Very much so. He’s the guy’s who won’t let you share his bottle of pop (or if he does, wipes it very carefully before he takes another swig) and opens the car windows when it’s below freezing outside because someone sneezed.

Now I’m not saying it’s a bad thing; I happen to like my little peculiarities; if I didn’t, I wouldn’t do them. But I have to be careful. Because today the boys are copying my fruit addiction and Ash’s love for bread. Tomorrow it could be chocolate. The day after that, my (not so) secret love of country music and Ash’s ‘Billy Joel taste’. The day after that, my arachnophobia and Ash’s fear of rodents.

As good old Barbara Streisand sings it, ‘Children will listen’. And watch. And copy. And learn.

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