I never cease to be amazed at the different ways Hubby and I approach parenting. As shown in yesterday’s post, Hubby sees no problem with letting the Little Lady lick mashed potatoes off the floor. Me? I change her clothes the moment a speck of anything appears. Hubby never realizes when the Little Lady is getting into something off limits, whether it be my basket of unfinished knitting or the phone. I’m the one that tells her “No” every time she even thinks about doing something she’s not supposed to do.
A prime example of our Type A versus Type B personalities was shown Tuesday night. Hubby surprised me by bringing home a gorgeous arrangement of roses and dinner. I was so excited; as spontaneous as my husband is about most things, he rarely surprises me romantically.
As soon as I saw the roses, I wanted to share them with the Little Lady, and she was just as impressed as I was. She excitedly pointed, squealing “Whwow-wuh! Whwow-wuw!” (that’s “flower” for those of you who do not speak toddler-ese). The Little Lady even leaned in to smell the apricot flowers, mimicking her mommy’s actions every second.
Then, her Daddy announced it was time to eat. We each went to our respective chairs and began to enjoy the meal. I was REALLY enjoying my time as Hubby took over the duties of feeding our daughter.
Midway through dinner, Hubby’s laughter caught my attention. I looked up to see my child — my daughter — my Little Lady gnawing on meatless chicken bones. And, these weren’t just any old bones. Oh, NO! Hubby was obliging the Little Lady’s palate by dipping them in BBQ sauce, allowing her to have the ultimate bone-chewing experience.
Why was he doing this? Not because he thought she would nutritionally benefit from the marrow that she sucked. Not because he was trying to pacify her while he finished his own dinner. My husband did this just because it was funny to watch.
It was funny until MOMMY realized what was going on! I immediately went into my high-pitched, fast talking voice, reprimanding him for the scene before me. Hubby calmly ignored my panic, telling me that a baby sucking on a chicken leg was perfectly fine.
CRUNCH!
CRUNCH!
We both turned to our BBQ covered daughter. Brand-new baby teeth are very sharp — sharp enough to cut through bone.
And THAT’S what it took for Hubby to realize that I was right: chicken bones and babies shouldn’t mix.
(I won’t insult him him by posting the current score of Mommy v. Daddy matches. But, I will say . . . I’m winning.)
