A typical morning in the Fisher household:
"Mom! The baby just ate a spider!"
Mom sprints into the living room and pries the now-dead spider out of baby's mouth. Baby yelps angrily.
Hey! That's my spider! If you want to eat a spider for breakfast, get your own!
Mom: "Sorry, kiddo. Not in the mouth."
Baby (yelling louder): I want that back! Right now!
Mom (putting squished remnants of spider onto tissue and handing it to another kid to flush): "Icky, icky. Spiders are icky. Don't eat spiders."
Baby (now wailing inconsolably): Child abuse! Baby mistreatment! Someone call Social Services! She stole my spider!!!
Mommy picks up baby, hugs him till he stops crying, and drops him in high seat. "If you're hungry, how about some oatmeal?"
Baby takes a dainty bite from a spoon, then averts his head and spits out the oatmeal with the utmost contempt.
This stuff is disgusting. I wouldn't eat this if you paid me.
"Oh, come on. It's good."
No, it's not. It's revolting. A totally inappropriate food to offer to babies. No decent mother would make her baby eat this stuff.
"And yet I'm supposed to let you eat a spider?"
Of course you are. Sheesh... (Baby sighs heavily.) You know what your problem is? You just don't understand gourmet eating.
"Yeah, I guess not. Now eat your oatmeal."
Pppbbtttt.
Oy. I remember those days. Now the kids are all grown up and I know they won't eat spiders. However, I know they also don't tell me everything that's going on in their lives--only what they know I want to hear.
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