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The Day the High Chair Died

It was a Monday morning much like any other. I carried my Riley downstairs still in pjs. He is saying and frantically signing ‘more’ lest I forget the first order of business when we get downstairs, food. Nothing seemed unusual to me as we aimed for the kitchen. A small cup of coffee was left to warm for me in the pot by my loving hubby before he headed off to work. He knows that being pregnant I am trying to limit my caffeine intake, but cold turkey isn’t an option.

                Then I proceeded to try and decipher the breakfast wishes of my son in my best toddlerees.  It was concluded that a waffle would more likely be eaten then chucked to the dog, so we went with waffles for breakfast. There was a little disagreement about whether the waffle needed to be toasted but ultimately it was confirmed that waffles are better warm. It was then that I would find out that life as I knew it in our home had taken an unexpected turn.

                Just as I had done the morning before and many mornings previous, I told my Riley that it was time to get in his chair. This is normally met by running to the chair and waiting for help to get in. Today, no.  Today my request was met by screeching and head shaking. I thought maybe we were misunderstanding each other. I picked him up and proceeded to put him in his high chair. This was met by a surprisingly strong back arching ability, eye closing, head thrashing, and more screeching. I set him down. I asked if he wanted his waffle.  His response seemed affirmative. I said it was time to get into his chair. Next thing I knew he had thrown himself from a standing position onto the floor screeching and still arching his back even though I wasn’t even touching him. It became clear to me that somewhere in the course of the night he and the high chair had a falling out.

                In the fog of Monday morning and in desperation for my coffee I may have made a rookie mom mistake. I took my coffee and sat in my usual spot at the table, put Riley’s breakfast plate in front of me and hoisted him onto my lap. He happily ate his breakfast and I enjoyed my coffee. I think he has now found a more preferable high chair.

                Lunch rolled around and the morning high chair fiasco was nearly forgotten, by me. The request to go into the high chair preceded a stomping screeching combo. It was then that I realized that whatever happened between Riley and the chair was yet to be resolved. When dinner was met with the same fate, I knew the high chair was dead to him.  It was my Tuesday morning wish that Riley and the chair would have cooled off and breakfast could go back to normal. No such luck.

I am up for suggestions that don’t involve me eating with one hand and half a lap.

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