independence wins out. here's the scenario...

It's 8:00 in the morning, Mark and I are still in our pj's. We sit at the breakfast table, Mark in his high chair, ready to eat our breakfast. For Mark, I have taken particular care and love to make him something more then a cold-heartless bowl of cold cereal, and instead have made--with all my love--a warm, delicious bowl of hot oatmeal. As a mother, I'm proud that I make it with real oats (not the instant kind) so that my son gets a very nutritious start to his day. I take a spoon in hand preparing to feed him first, despite my hunger pains, and gently lead the spoon to his mouth. Instantly his hand starts waving impatiently, he cries out--and before I have a chance to react--there is a loud thud. I look down on the floor and see bits of glass and oatmeal covering the kitchen floor. I look up at Mark, his cute face is now wrinkled up into this pout (which is actually quite adorable had he not just broken one of my bowls). He then slaps the table with his hand, scowling at me the whole time, as if to say, "I dare you to try to feed that to me again, Mom. I'm not having it this morning." A bunch of external clues, which include hand gestures and crying, tells me that Mark has decided that this morning he doesn't want oatmeal, this morning he wants cookies (which he has figured out I keep hidden on the upper shelf in the pantry--he's so smart). I'm shocked and horrified. My perfect child, my un-opinonated, chill baby, has now become opinionated. I try to reason. I try to persuade. But the more I try, the more oatmeal is piled on the floor. It's now 8:45. Mom and son are still in their pj's, still hungry, and both frustrated.

This story does have a happy ending, but it took a lot of time and included reading Mark's favorite dinosaur book while eating oatmeal.