Dumpster Diving Baby

Okay — I have a few bad mother moments. This morning, at the crack of dawn on a Saturday, no less, Matthew decided to wake up and call “Mama . . . Mama . . . Mama!” until I finally picked him up. Did I mention that it is Saturday, little man? I explained this to him as we walked downstairs, that he really could sleep in on Saturday. Really.

I put in an Elmo’s World for his entertainment and retrieved some juice for him. Then I must have dozed off on the couch, even though Elmo’s World is just as compelling the eleven hundredth time you’ve seen it as the first. A few minutes later, I noticed that I was the only one watching Elmo now, so I jumped up to investigate. Matthew was in the kitchen, standing very still by the trash can. I had thrown away some popcorn last night and Matthew was sampling it right out of the trash can. The baby was so hungry he was eating out of the trash can.

I grabbed him and picked him up and told him that there was no need for him to eat out of the trash can. I offered him cheerios. He said no. I offered him toast. He said no. I offered eggs, fruit, bagels, pop tarts; he said no. He wanted popcorn. Out of the trash can.

We finally agreed on cheerios (when I say agreed, I mean I forced them on him) and he ate them happily while he finished watching Elmo.

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