Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Yeah, but you don't have to rub my face in it...
My daughter is generally an enthusiastic eater. She especially enjoys smearing food all over her high chair, face, hair, elbows and occasionally, her feet. All the books say not to reprimand a messy eater; children should explore all aspects of eating in the early stages, and should even be encouraged to make a mess. Right.
This would be fine if Jade would only allow me to wash her face and hands off afterwards without screaming bloody murder. EVERY. TIME. I've tried doing it quickly; I've tried doing it extra-gently. I've tried making a silly song to go with the face-washing, making crazy faces, using a wacky voice - it all ends the same way: a shrieking, writhing baby who acts like I am stabbing her with pointy objects instead of sponging her off with a soft, warm cloth.
My husband doesn't usually get home in time to see the performance during the week. I was complaining about it to him on the weekend, showing him first-hand the Battle of the Face Cloth.
"I don't know what her problem is," I growled, as dodging, yelling baby Jade eluded me for the umpteenth time. "I have to put her in a headlock to get her face clean. Your mother says Jade never makes a fuss for her."
"I'll show you what the problem is," said my husband, and without further ado, grabbed me, grabbed the face cloth and started forcibly wiping my face off. "There, how d'YOU like it? Huh? Huh?"
After my squealing and Jade's giggling had subsided, I had to admit he had a point. Having someone wash your face is not fun, no matter what age you are. So now I just dab at Jady's avocado-smeared mug and if doesn't all come off, so be it. She seems to like it a lot better, too. Leave it to my ever-practical husband to show me the light.