Chic Chick

It seems Chickie is becoming more sophisticated. It started with the purchase of his new 'robe'. Check him out strutting around with his matching grippy socks, looking every inch the dapper English Gentletot. I put the pipe away for the photograph. The following morning, he could be found sipping a ‘Babycino’ with his girlfriend under the alfresco canopy of Costa Coffee.

A spot of luncheon followed later at Chickie’s new table with specially selected pink chair for his lady friend(s). It was eerily quiet as they sat side by side, eating like responsible toddlers. No spitting, no stroppies, no smearing, no splatting, no screaming. I looked at LucyWucy in disbelief, an incredulous Wuce looked back. Could we have finally cracked it after a year of fussy, messy, stressy toddler mealtime hell? Neither of us dared utter it out loud for fear of jinxing whatever magic spell the £7.60 worth of plastic Tesco furniture had cast.

We’d both dreamed of a mealtime like this. If your child opens his mouth, chews food and then swallows it, you won’t understand. Granted, you may think you do because you've endured the odd case of totty teatime rebellion but, unless you suffer daily histrionics, your dining room rug is 40% sisal and 60% dried food particles, you have spaghetti hanging from your chandelier and your little poppet uses his yoghurt as shampoo, you really don't get it.

Luce and I get it. We’ve strategised and researched, we’ve chopped, mushed and pureed, we’ve approached creatively, methodically and desperately, we’ve scrubbed, washed and hosed down and we have no choice but to come back every day, three times a day, praying it will be different and, if not, that the multivitamins will ward off potential bouts of scurvy.

Naturally, as the mother of a reluctant eater, you wonder where it all went wrong. Did I wean too late, too early? Did I miss the healthy eating window or did I give him one jar too many? If I’d given him a raisin just that little bit earlier, would it all be different?

However, what’s done is done and it’s most probably my fault as the mother is always to blame. At least the bribery option should be available to me before long. Once Chickie can understand, no dinner - no pudding, I’m confident this will all turn around.