Breakfast with Elliot

I made him breakfast this morning, as I do whenever the chance arises. It’s little moments like these that spark the joy and motivation in my soul, to see him happy, to see him content. It’s a little moment of bonding, a shared experience where we can feel each other out a bit and find our boundaries. It doesn’t always go well, but it’s always rewarding, there is always something to take away from the adventure. Elliot is twenty-one months old, and he will never be this age again.

Today’s meal is a fairly typical variety or his favorites, two eggs over medium, half an avocado, half a banana, and apple slices, all cut into appropriate baby sized bites. He watches me cook from the other side of the baby gate, wedged in between it and the fish tank where he can gain some vantage of the kitchen and make small protesting noises at my continued delay and absence from his play area. The twelve-foot long gate divides the kitchen and living room, for his safety of course, and our kitchen is much too small to have the little guy underfoot.

I talk to him, reassuring him that I am not gone forever and I will bring yummies when I return.

He runs over excitedly as I bring the plate out, putting his arms up so I can lift him into the high chair. I put some banana and apple slices on his tray while I fill his sippy cup with water. The fruit is ignored as he reaches in frustration for my plate pleading “dado!, dado!” Elliot speak for his favorite breakfast food. He sees the avocado, and he wants the avocado. So, I comply and give him the green stuff. He tries to use his plastic fork for a moment imitating his dad, then, as if realizing the futility of such a crude tool, he tosses it to the floor, and promptly shoves the avocado into his mouth with his hands.

I try the eggs to make sure they are not too hot and put some in front of him. He ignores them until the avocado is gone, and then tries an apple slice. His face scrunches up in a disappointed expression but he doesn’t spit it out, and actually takes another bite. He chews the apple slowly and deliberately, a sharp departure from his avocado tactic of filling his mouth until his cheeks are bulging and trying to swallow everything at once.

After, the apple I feed him a piece of the banana, just a bite on the tip of my fork. Usually he doesn’t like banana, but this time he does and even seeks out another piece on his tray. It’s amazing how his tastes change from day to day or moment to moment. Thank goodness for my wife’s strategy of circling back around or Elliot might be on a diet of egg and Avocado for the rest of his childhood.

He tires of the fruit quickly and dives into the eggs with his usual vigor, but soon the leftovers become squishy playthings with which to paint his face, hair and tray. He drinks his water to wash it all down and waves his hands in the air in his childish imitation of the sign language for “all done”. I wipe his face, hands and eating area, thwarting his escape attempts as I scrub the caked avocado off his face. I lift him from his seat, his legs already pumping furiously when he touches the floor and rushes off to his waiting toys.

The dishes rinsed, the floor swept and kombucha in hand I retire to the couch, loading up a video game while I observe my toddler and await the tell tale aroma signifying the beginning of our next bonding activity. “Diapey changing time?” I ask. He runs to a corner and answers questioningly “Nnnooo?”. I pick him and carry him to the changing table, singing our diapey changing song while he protests half-heartedly. Soon he won’t need my help with this particular task any more either and I will be glad for his growth and sad that another opportunity for magic is lost to memory and stories of nostalgia. Until then, no matter how many times he throws his food, or poops his pants, I will endeavor to enjoy the moment and savor this precious time with little Elliot.