New

Hey little buddy, it's Mom.
Just wanted to let you know I'm thinking about you.
And loving your little face right about off.
You've gotten so big and so ... smart/advanced/mature lately.
We have regular conversations now.
It's like talking to a grown-up.
Except, you're down there, by dog hair and dust bunnies and abandoned toys.
Looking up at me, waiting.

Snack time:
In the mornings and afternoons at home.
We have three big jars of lil' dude approved snacks in the house.
And a fridge full.
Before, you'd say snack and we'd hand you the item.
You'd munch happily.
But now, you have opinions and favorites.
And did I mention opinions?
So now you say snaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack in that long, drawn-out baby voice I still love. And the game begins.

Do you want fishes?
Nuh-uh.
Pretzel fish?
Nuh-uh.
Cheese stick?
No.
Applesauce.
No.
Blue yogurt.
No yooooget.
Macaroni crackers?
{silent NO head shake}- I don't blame you, those are kinda YUCKY.
Banana?
Nuh-uh.
Strawberry Fig Newtons?
I don't like it, which is NEW.

You kill me.
You're so funny.
Like a little old lady at Bonanza.
Yucky.
Nuh-uh.
No.
I don't like it.
So I hoist you up to the pantry or fridge, and you root around, digging for your prize.
{last night you and Daddy were doing the Snack Dance and you landed on the [generic] Rice Krispies and insisted on eating those dry. YUCKY]

You finally say thank you with consistency.
So that makes the snack rundown almost worth the while.
{okay, worth the while always forever and ever amen}
You're a funny, particular little kid.
With a blonde ponytail.
And a long list of snack options.
Everyday.