My friends from our antenatal class visited recently. It was the first time the babies were truly engaging with each other and playing - they passed each other toys, gummed each other and followed each other around. It was really delightful to see.
My baby was absolutely fascinated to watch the other two eat. Unlike us, the other babies had followed a baby-led weaning process, and so were choosing their own foods and were feeding themselves. One of my friends’ babies no longer accepts being fed, and as a result only eats finger foods. His mum had expressed on more than one occasion how limiting this is and that it was difficult thinking up new things for him to try.
We tried baby-led weaning, but I found watching B cough and retch, as he learned to swallow, really scary. It just wasn’t right for us as a family. As time has gone on though, B has been able to manage larger chunks without coughing. However, he’s still very much being fed by me.
The following morning after the visit, B decided that he would spit out all of his breakfast porridge and mash it up in his hands. After this he wiped his sticky little hands in his hair. It is worth mentioning that, prior to this, he had spent the time taken to make the porridge very much expressing his hunger with impatient squawks and squeals.
So when he spat every mouthful out and proceeded to throw it on the floor, my patience was wearing thin.
If I’m honest, I was very scared that B was rejecting me feeding him and that if I gave in, this would be a permanent change. So I carried on giving him spoonfuls of porridge which ended up narrowly missing our cat’s head.
Tempers rose. B was hungry and this whole process was not satisfying his little tummy and he could tell I was getting crosser and crosser that the nutritional breakfast I had prepared was steadily being splattered across the floor.
Eventually, I decided to step out of the room. Whatever I was doing here wasn’t working and I needed a breather.
When I came back, B was in a real state. I tried one more spoonful and although he was now eating the porridge, he was simply too upset to swallow. I decided to take a leaf out of my husband’s book, forget whatever activity it was that we were trying to complete and give B a hug.
This was the right call. I realised that B was now more upset by my reaction to him than the hunger or anything else. In his little mind, he had simply wanted to copy his friends and things had gone terribly wrong and mummy was cross with him.
I kept whispering in his little ear how much I loved him and that everything will be alright. Slowly, his little sobs abated and he flopped into my arms.
I realised that no matter what’s going on, B needs to know that I love him and that nothing bad will happen if we disagree. Him knowing I love him is more important than being on time, following a routine or pleasing others.
In the end, we both compromised. B had some bits of dried apricot he could eat with his hands, and after he had achieved his aims he happily ate the remainder of his porridge. He settled down to use the potty and went to sleep pretty content not long after.
But this left me thinking, who had the tantrum? Me or him? Leave me a message or comment below - I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Comments