Humble Blueberry Pie

There was a time in my life that I would have argued that a woman who can get annoyed with her children is the devil incarnate. I had a whole power point presentation and printed pamphlets outlining an argument that if you were lucky enough to have children, you should walk around with a smile on your face and rainbows shooting out of your fingertips all the time, with no exceptions. Baby's eating dog vomit off of the floor? Smile, Momma! Baby just tipped the dog's bowl of water over the the fifth time today, threw your phone in the toilet, and screamed the entire time you were at the grocery store, while every single senior citizen you saw commented, "Little fella's not happy, is he?" Say cheese! You guessed it, this period coincided with the time that I was recovering from losing my first pregnancy.

Since the day he was born and refused to nurse, all the while screaming at me because he was starving, Luke has been destroying all of my preconceived notions about parenting, and humbling me every step of the way. And this morning...good gravy, was he annoying me!

As I sat down to spoon-feed George his delicious Gerber baby food, I gave Luke a bowl of blueberries. Since Luke can put a whole pint away in one sitting, this was no modest portion. And as he ate each berry one at a time, he asked me, "Is this a blueberry?"

I remained cheerful the first few times, answering, "Yes, it's a blueberry," thinking that it would get old after a few bites. But I failed to remember that NOTHING gets old to a two-year-old except putting on his own shoes and being quiet at church.

After about twenty-seven blueberries, I started answering through clenched teeth, if answering at all. And then the little sucker baited me. He started asking me if it was a blueberry with nothing in his hand! What a clever little guy! "Yes, it's a blueberry! OKAY?" I'd say, and then he would show me his empty palm. Talk about egg on my face!

Finally, when he was about two-thirds of the way through, I told him that his question was getting annoying and he needed to stop asking it. "They're all blueberries. Got it?" He pouted and asked me, "Why are you treating me like that?"

I decided that on Monday, the next time we're alone for breakfast, he will get grapes. They're bigger, so fewer fit in a bowl. Also, "grape" isn't nearly as fun to say as "blueberry". We'll just make blueberries a rare treat...like, for when his father is flying solo with the kids.