Choice. Words.

Here is a sampling of words overheard in the Runaway Mama’s house this week:

“If you try to give me new food, I’m not going to eat it.”
“I’m eating nothing.”
“If you give me new food, I’m going to go away from the house.”
(i.e.  I’m going to runaway.)

“Don’t ever ask me to make pizza with you again because I won’t.”

It’s okay to think this is funny.  It kind of is.  But the pizza line really stung, and on the few nights when Dylan went to sleep without eating anything for dinner (his choice), I cried.

At this point, I have a few choice words for Dylan, but I’m staying focused.  I can’t help but be reminded of the week I spent potty training him.  It took about five (very long) days to wear him down and get him to poop in the toilet, and after he finally gave in, he was so proud of himself.  I told Dylan this very inspirational story earlier in the week in an attempt to get him to eat a chicken nugget and his responses was, “Stop telling me stories.”  More choice words.

We’re on day five of Operation Chicken (or Turkey or Pizza or Fish or fill in the blank…) and he’s not budging.  Neither am I.

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