It’s snack time and Emerson is dancing around the kitchen. She’s pointing every which way—at the counter, at the refrigerator, at the toaster—while emitting a terrible grunting/whining noise and giving us the sign language sign for “eat.” Alex and I try to decipher her code, as per usual. “Apple? Toast? Hummus? Puffs?!” we call.
No. No. No. She shakes her head.
“What is it, Emerson?!! What do you want?”
“Mmmmmnnnttttpffffft!” She stamps the floor.
Just then, a package arrives at the door. I bring it in and place it on the kitchen floor. As I unpack the box, Alex tries to force a baby food packet into Emerson’s mouth after she insisted that he open it and subsequently refused to eat it.
Emerson is very interested in the now empty box. She decides to climb in. Amused by her new location, she opens her mouth and accepts the food Alex is offering. But, just as soon as we are relieved that she is finally eating, Emerson notices the new toddler forks that I am unwrapping. She once again closes her mouth and begins to flip out until I hand her a fork. She points. I give her another. She points again. I hand her a third. She gives us both a coy little smile and giggles, then begins to slurp down her food hungrily. As long as she is standing in a box, and holding three forks (and no less), she will eat.
So, we feed her…..while she is standing in a box, holding three forks.
This is our life.