A few weeks before Christmas, Marcy and I started to have a dickens of a time (note: I can’t believe I just used the word “dickens”. Before you know it, I’ll be sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch shaking my fist at all the gal darn whipper snappers listening to their rock-and-or-roll music. Note 2: Listen to THIS sound file, I sure could use a Dicken’s Cider right about now.) getting Brynna to eat in her high chair (you just had to go back to the start to remember what I was talking about didn’t you) and for the life of us (did it again, huh?) couldn’t figure out why. One day it occurred to us that maybe she wants to eat at the table like the big kids so we took off the tray, slid the high chair up to the dining room table (note 3: are we the only American family who still uses their dining room table on a daily basis?) and voila! Success. She now eats happily (for a toddler anyway) with mommy and daddy at the table every night.
Little did we know though what a monster we were creating. Once the tray came off, she wanted to do everything at the table and would spend hours sitting there playing and coloring if we would let her. Unfortunately that meant either myself or Marcy were also forced to sit there like a kid on timeout to be sure she didn’t hang herself upside down by the seat belt. This, of course, was why we got her the Nilo table for Christmas. She is now able to play til her heart is content and I can sit on the couch and pick my nose like a true modern parent should.
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