Sometimes...

Sometimes being a responsible, loving parent sucks.

I fixed a simple, cheesy chicken noodle dish (about a cup and a half of wide egg noodles, a can of condensed cream of chicken soup, and a couple hands full of shredded cheddar) for lunch for myself and the imp.

And he wouldn't eat. And wouldn't eat. And wouldn't eat.

He'd put the fork into the food, then lick the cheesy soup off the tines, but wouldn't eat the noodles. Sat in the high chair for two hours, but wouldn't eat.

I'll leave those of you that have raised children to imagine the screaming tantrums with tears, and the begging to get down, for a cracker, a chip, some crunch (generic Cap'n Crunch), some cheerios, applesauce, milk--anything but what was in front of him.

Of course, the answer's no. Still won't eat. So, I put him down for a nap.

I don't think he slept, but he laid in there and was mostly quiet for two hours. I think he was too hungry to sleep.

When I let him up, I asked if he was hungry. He ran to the kitchen gate, chanting, "eat? eat?" So, I put the bowl of noodles, heated up and shredded (with a spoon to eat it with, this time) in front of him.

Still won't eat. Spent two hours trying to get him to. He doesn't get anything to eat unless he eats that.

I really hate it when my kids are upset and in tears. Hate it. Hate being the bad guy. Hate having to discipline them. Hate spending an entire day fighting with the imp about a bowl with maybe a half a cup of cheesy chicken noodles in the bottom.

Guess what he gets for breakfast in the morning, if he still won't eat in an hour?